


Influenced at Ilvermorny

by NinjaFairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Forbidden Love, Ilvermorny, Love Triangles, Manipulation, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tomione Fest 2017, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/pseuds/NinjaFairy
Summary: Ginny Weasley died in the Chamber of Secrets, so that Tom Marvolo Riddle could live. A 16 year old Tom ran, and went into hiding. Ginny and the Chamber were never found; so, Hogwarts was closed and the students were sent elsewhere.Five years have passed since then and Hermione has just started her 7th year at Ilvermorny. Her last year was supposed to be one to remember. It would be one to remember, of course, specifically because of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.





	1. Book I: Omen

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tomione_Fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tomione_Fest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>   
> 
> Ginny died in the Chamber of Secrets, so that Tom Riddle could live.

****

**Book I: Omen**

* * *

Skin; white. Lips; blue. The colors were practically bleeding from her, leaving only fiery hair on her spectrum.

And that was how Tom Marvolo Riddle left her there.

* * *

The gore that had congealed on the stone wall had told everyone that her skeleton would lie in the chamber forever.

Everyone was beginning to fear that it would be true.

Ginny Weasley had been missing for two days before the Ministry had decided to close Hogwarts down.

There was fear and grief and outrage at the scandal. There was talk of a curse on Hogwarts, because almost fifty years ago, another girl had mysteriously died at the school.

Some parents guarded their beloved children from the safety of their own homes. Some parents sent their children to Durmstrang. Some parents sent their children to Beauxbatons. Surprisingly, quite a handful of parents had another idea in mind – the magical school in North America – Ilvermorny.

Seeing as Hermione's parents considered themselves more… _democratic_  in their way of thinking, they had decided that Ilvermorny was the best choice for their daughter, as much as it pained them to send her so far away.

The Dursley's had decided that the further away Harry was from them, the better; so, Ilvermorny it was.

If Harry, Ron, and Hermione had thought the current events were cruel now, it had only gotten worse. After Ginny's disappearance, Molly had refused to let her children out of her sight ever again. Ronald would not be going to school with them - homeschooling was his future now. While the three of them understood, the blow had still knocked them down - hard.

How much further down could they possibly go?

* * *

The weight of the stares from the hundreds of children above them left her feeling off-kilter. The weight was beginning to bore down on her. Hermione felt herself gravitating closer to Harry, while quickly eyeing the other students standing on the balcony that encased the circular room. Two colors were seen wherever she looked: blue and cranberry; the color scheme of Ilvermorny.

Her gaze drifted to the four massive wooden carvings that sat on the outskirts of the main floor. Four magical creatures that represented four houses, not unlike Hogwarts. One looked like some sort of snake, the second looked like a panther with six legs, the third looked similar to a hippogriff, and the last reminded Hermione of a porcupine that had mated with a goblin. Although, Ilvermorny was different, as Hogwarts houses were represented by non-magical creatures. She shook the thoughts out of her head quickly, and refocused on the now.

Natalie Fairbourne was called to walk into the center of the room, and was surrounded by the four carvings. The room was silent for several seconds before the panther creature lifted its head back, and roared. There was a round of applause from the students above them as Natalie smiled, and made her way out of the center of the room.

Hermione's anxiety hadn't lessened when it was her turn to walk into the middle of the room. She didn't know which carving to look at. She waited. Silence. Suddenly, she heard cheering before she knew what was going on. Hermione turned around, and immediately noticed a bright jewel glowing in the middle of the snake carving's head.  _A snake?_  Surely that didn't mean the equivalent of being in  _Slytherin_. She certainly hoped not. The minor frown on Harry's face told her that he was hoping the same thing.

Draco Malfoy was called up next. Really, could they not call names in alphabetical order? The uncertainty of not knowing who would be next was driving her batty. Her critical thoughts were swallowed up once she saw the same jewel glowing brightly on the snake's head. Harry and Hermione exchanged a concerned glance.

After several other students were sorted into different houses, Harry was called up. It was only seconds before the six-legged panther threw its head back and roared. He walked back over to Hermione, looking slightly put off. She reached out to grab his hand.

"It's alright, Harry. We're still here together, and that's what matters," she whispered to him. This seemed to make him feel better, but the look of concern didn't completely fade from his face.

Hermione glanced to her left, quickly spotting the platinum hair in the small crowd of ex-Hogwarts students. They both made awkward eye contact for a split second, and hastily looked away from each other.

Why did she have to be in the same house as  _Malfoy_? Why was Ginny gone? Where was she? Was the Chamber of Secrets real and had it really been opened? More importantly –  _who had opened it?_

Hermione's mind, as usual, had gone into overdrive.

It didn't stop.

It  _never_  stopped.

* * *

Five years had passed and Hermione's mind still hadn't stopped buzzing. Five years had passed and they still hadn't found the Chamber of Secrets. Five years had passed and they still hadn't found Ginny. Five years of no answers.  _Five years_  of her friend being gone.

Time had made the pain easier to manage, but it was still present. It still lingered behind her like a shadow. She thought of Ginny and the Chamber of Secrets often. The wound was renewed anytime they heard from or saw Ron. It was difficult. So…incredibly…difficult.

"I wonder where Draco is?"

Hermione was pulled out of her thoughts by Harry's question. She peered around the carriages surrounding the area, including the one that they were currently sitting in, searching for the blonde boy. Normally, finding him wasn't that difficult; but, with the other students climbing into carriages and the winged Aethonans braying restlessly, it was proving to be a difficult task.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon. You know how busy the lines to the vanishing cabinets get the first day going back to school," she said. Harry nodded once, and went back to chewing on a piece of licorice.

If someone had told them five years ago that they would become good friends with Draco Malfoy, they would have laughed in the person's face without worrying about feeling rude. His attitude toward blood prejudice had been quickly stamped out like a freshly lit flame. A democratic school such as Ilvermorny did not tolerate that kind of thinking; not just the school, but its students, as well.

Hermione smiled as she remembered the first time Draco made the mistake of calling her a Mudblood in front of the already established students at Ilvermorny. It wasn't pretty. It didn't take him long to learn that if he wanted to survive until graduation, he was going to have to change his attitude. None of his friends from Slytherin had been sent to Ilvermorny - most of them had been sent to Durmstrang. He had a difficult time the rest of second year, resulting in him not having very many friends; and it didn't matter how many galleons his Father had – money couldn't buy him popularity at Ilvermorny.

Since they had both been sorted into the Horned Serpent house, she ended up seeing him more often than she'd liked. And bless her bleeding heart, but seeing him sulk by himself in their common area, or during meals left her feeling sorry for him. Draco had reached a point of being so miserable that he'd essentially welcomed her tentative friendship with open arms.

She had discovered that Draco Malfoy was somewhat pleasant to be around. Well, when he wasn't being a brat. He was intelligent, ambitious, and took his schoolwork seriously. The beginning of their friendship started out as just sitting at the same table while quietly doing their homework. Soon, it had turned into a real friendship.

It had taken Harry several months to adjust to the fact that Hermione had befriended Draco, and even longer to become friends with him himself. Draco didn't exactly help the friendship along any - not with him being the bitter, little prat that he was, spitting scathing remarks to Harry at inopportune times. She'd lost count of how many times she had to get in between the two of them to stop the fight that she saw brewing like a chaotic concoction.

She sighed. Of course, there were still occasions where they would intermittently butt heads…

"Oi! There you two are!"

Harry and Hermione turned their heads to the sound of the familiar voice. It was obvious that Draco was having some difficulty hauling his luggage behind him. Harry laughed at the sight.

Draco's pale face turned pink. Whether it was from embarrassment or anger, Hermione didn't know.

"Getting some  _help_  would be more useful than laughing at me, Potter," he snarled in agitation.

"It may not be useful to you, but it's useful to me. Haven't you heard that laughter is good for your health?" Harry said, clearly trying to agitate him on purpose.

"Potter!" Draco practically growled, then he tripped and almost lost his footing. Harry howled in laughter.

"I can feel myself getting stronger with each passing second. Soon, I shall be  _invincible_ ," Harry said dramatically.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the boys. She lifted her wand, and levitated Draco's luggage on top of their carriage. "Have you forgotten that you're a wizard, Draco?"

Harry had taken delight at the color that spread across Draco's face as he climbed into their carriage. He sat down next to Hermione and said, "Anger makes you forgetful."

"I can see that," she said offhandedly. Their carriage gave a sudden jerk and it started moving forward. "Looks like you arrived just in time."

" _I can see that_ ," Draco mimicked her, then smiled. He spotted a stray curl and tucked it behind her ear for her.

Hermione blushed at the gesture, then muttered, "Smart-arse."

"Only doing my civic duty, ma'am," he accompanied his sarcasm with a theatrical bow.

* * *

The dining hall at Ilvermorny was always a room that Hermione appreciated. The architecture served the school with its functionality, and awed the students with its beauty. The room was open and inviting with its vaulted ceilings. The polished wooden beams that hugged the ceiling gave it the illusion that it was even bigger than it was. The gorgeous stained glass window that was situated above where some of the teachers sat was the highlight of the room, and Hermione's favorite part. It was her favorite part, because it told a story – the story of Isolt Sayre, and her family. The colors from the window would bleed onto the floor on a sunny day. It was  _spectacular_.

"I cannot  _wait_  to eat dinner. I hope they're serving chicken nuggets," Harry said longingly.

"Seriously, Potter? Bet you're hoping they're dragon shaped, too, aren't you?" Draco scoffed.

Harry glared at him, but then began to grin, "You bet!" He made his way to the cafeteria window to grab a tray.

"He's like an overgrown child, I swear," Draco scoffed.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and said, "You don't have much room to talk, Draco. I recall you getting excited the first time they served cheeseburgers."

Draco rolled his eyes at her words. "Pardon  _me_ , but I did  _not_  get excited. I just have an… _appreciation_  for some American food. Cheeseburgers are on an entirely different level than  _chicken nuggets._  Those disgusting  _things_  are for nursery children."

They made their way over to the cafeteria window. Several Pukwudgies could be seen through the windows, busying themselves by cooking, serving food, or stocking supplies. Hermione smiled to herself. Another reason why she loved Ilvermorny – they didn't agree with the use of house elves, and instead employed Pukwudgies in their place. Hermione had checked to see that their salaries were adequate – and they were.

Hermione slid her tray down the line, and spotted her favorite Pukwudgie serving up steamed vegetables. "William! It's so good to see you again! How was your summer?"

The little goblin-like creature's pointed, grey nose crinkled up in distaste at her. He scooped up a pile of steamed vegetables, and slammed it down on an unsuspecting Draco's tray.

"Hey! I didn't ask for those," Draco complained.

William paid Draco no mind as he turned his attention back to Hermione. His deep, gravelly voice cracked when he spoke, "I've come back to this  _Hell-hole_  again, so I predict that you can tell how I've been."

Hermione smiled at him. "That's so wonderful! Would you like my help in caring for the mayflowers again this year? I've been looking forward to it."

William's long ears twitched, and he grumbled out, "I really don't need help taking care of  _flowers_ , but I  _suppose_  I'll let you help me again this year. As long as you aren't a nuisance."

Hermione noticed that she was holding up the line. "Perfect! I can't wait. See you, William!"

William slammed another spoonful of vegetables on an unsuspecting student's tray, and waved the back of his hand at Hermione to shoo her away. She smiled, and continued down the line.

"I don't know why you bother talking to them. They can't stand us and they can't stand being here," Draco said once they sat down at the table Harry had already claimed.

"That's not true. It's just their -" she was interrupted by both Harry and Draco.

"Disposition."

Hermione scowled at them. She chose to ignore them by digging into her pasta. A chewing mouth was far safer for the boys right now.

"So, Potter, are you ready to lose the Quodpot Cup again this year?" Draco asked, then took a bite of the broccoli William had forced on him.

"You  _wish_. The only reason you won last year is because I couldn't find any decent players," Harry muttered.

"Likely excuse," Draco smirked.

Harry grumbled something about not having this problem if Quidditch was popular in the States, and then angrily chewed a piece of his chicken nugget.

"I'm personally excited about the Arithmancy Achievement Accolade. I really want Horned Serpent to win this year. We haven't won it a single time since we started here," Hermione said disappointedly.

"It's because the only one in our house who cares about Arithmancy is you," Draco laughed. His laugh turned into a cough when Harry jabbed Draco in the side with his elbow. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What Malfoy here was  _trying_  to say, is that maybe you should focus on a different award? I have an idea. How about the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tribute? When was the last time Horned Serpent won that?" Harry asked.

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "1992? I think. But Harry, you know Defence is my weakest subject."

Harry pushed air through his nose in disbelief. "Hah. I wish  _your_  weakest subject was  _my_ strongest. Why don't you consider this as a challenge to get better? Even if Horned Serpent doesn't win, at least you'll have improved."

Hermione set her fork down, and blinked at Harry in surprise. "You know what, Harry? That's a  _brilliant_  idea. I think I'll do that. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I come along with strokes of brilliance occasionally," he smiled at her while chewing his food. Hermione's frown at his bad manners was the only reminder he needed to close his mouth.

"Are you going to run for Student President this year?" Draco asked conversationally.

"I think so. Being Student President comes with much more responsibility than I had to deal with last year as a Vice President, but it looks wonderful on a résumé," she said.

"That's great, Hermione! I just have one question," said Harry.

"Sure."

"When will you sleep?" he asked.

Hermione frowned. Draco chuckled. Harry grinned.

There was a light chiming of bells that signified that the sorting ceremony for the new students was to begin soon. The other students around them began taking care of their trays.

"Let's get going. Don't want to be late," Hermione ordered.

* * *

The Sagittarius constellation wasn't difficult to spot through the glass cupola that sat above the expansive entrance hall. The clouds that usually swept over the mountain that hid Ilvermorny usually made stargazing difficult. Hermione wasn't one to buy into superstition, but she took the clear sky as a good omen.

Their last year at Ilvermorny - she was going to miss it.

Hermione peered over the side of the balcony, and took in the sight of nervous, fidgeting first years waiting for their names to be called. She smiled sadly when she remembered their first night being sorted, and thought of the person who'd brought them there – Ginny.

She absentmindedly slid her warm palms against the cherry wood banister, relishing the cool smoothness of it, when she nudged someone's hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized politely.

"Mistakes happen."

Hermione's heart felt like it was going to plummet into her stomach when she realized she'd bumped hands with one of the most  _handsome_  boys she'd ever laid eyes on. Everything about him was immaculate – from the top of his perfectly parted hair, down to his perfectly pristine shoes. The corner of his full lips tugged upward and his dark, grey eyes danced in amusement. She knew she was blatantly staring, but she couldn't make herself stop.  _Wait_.  _His accent._

"You're from England," she said, and got excited. The only English students at Ilvermorny were the transfers from Hogwarts.

"Perhaps I am. It seems as if you are," he said. He put his elbows on the banister, and rested his fist underneath his chin to look at her.

"Whereabouts are you from? My family lives in Hampstead – about twenty minutes from London."

The boy looked mildly amused by her excitement. "A little town in Wales that no one has ever heard of."

Hermione's brows furrowed in mild confusion. "You don't  _sound_  Welsh."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Are you always this skeptical of people you've just met?"

"Skepticism, debates on the negative impacts of patriarchal societies, and frequent visits to the library are the main things that keeps Hermione alive – it's what sustains her," came Draco's bored drawl from behind them.

Hermione and the boy turned around to see Draco and Harry standing behind them.

"And debates on the rights of magical creatures.  _Don't_  forget about the magical creatures," Harry joked, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead with a small frown.

"Oh,  _bugger off_ , you two," Hermione fired back in annoyance. She felt her cheeks go hot.

The boy raised his eyebrow as he looked her up and down. He clearly looked entertained at her embarrassed state.

"It's true. She doesn't even need to eat or sleep most days," Draco smirked, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Interesting," the boy said. Although, judging by his tone, Hermione was quite certain that he wasn't really interested. He straightened himself out, and bowed politely to Harry and Draco. "I'm needed downstairs. So, if you'll excuse me."

 _Who bowed before they left anymore?_  Hermione blinked in surprise when the boy turned to her, and took her warm hand in his cool one. All three of them stared at the boy in surprise when his lips ghosted over Hermione's knuckles.

"It was lovely to meet you, Hermione. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other soon enough," he said. And then he was gone in the swarm of students.

"And they say that chivalry is dead," Harry frowned in confusion, still staring after where the boy had left.

Draco's mouth turned down at the corners. "You call that chivalry? He was a pompous prat, if you ask me."

Hermione hardly heard them. She was practically swooning, and was slightly ashamed of it. Hermione Granger did not  _swoon_. She leaned back over the banister, and hoped to get another glance of the dark-haired boy. She knew all the students, and she did  _not_  know him. He had to be a transfer. Would he be sorted, too? She certainly hoped he was sorted into Horned Serpent. He seemed like the type…

Cheers erupted around them. The first child, a blonde girl, had been sorted into Pukwudgie.

"Earth to Hermione," Harry said, and waved a hand in front of her face.

Hermione shook her head. What was  _wrong_ with her? Stop it, stop it,  _stop it_. "Yes? I'm trying to watch the sorting ceremony."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's not  _all_  you're trying to watch _,_ " Draco retorted. He was leaning against the banister with his back, and his arms were still crossed over his chest. Harry gave him a look. Draco had never been good at disguising his resentment when another alpha male was around. Insecure little thing, he was.

Hermione chose to ignore his statement, and continued watching the new first years be sorted. It was difficult to see faces from the third floor, but she was sure that he wasn't in the group. She sighed in disappointment, watched the rest of the sorting ceremony go on in boredom, and clapped when necessary.

After the last student was sorted, Headmaster Fontaine walked into the center of the entrance hall. His magically amplified voice boomed across the room. "Welcome back to Ilvermorny, students! I know you'll do your duty and take good care of our first years! Now, onto some important information before you head to your dormitories! As with every year, the remnants of the abandoned village in the valley are  _off limits_  to students. It is well known that a small pack of werewolves occasionally frequents that area during the full moon; so, consider yourself  _warned_. If you are caught sneaking into the village, you will be  _expelled_  – no exceptions."

A collective hush fell across the students. While Hermione had never ventured down to the village, she knew it wasn't as dangerous as their Headmaster had made it out to be. The werewolf pack hadn't been seen in the area in nearly a decade, according to what William, and the other Pukwudgies had told her. After the incident at Hogwarts, it put all the parents and students on edge. Not just the students from Hogwarts, but the students from Ilvermorny, as well. Headmaster Fontaine didn't want to take any chances, and suffer the same humiliation as Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster continued, "On a less depressing note, we have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year!"

The collective hush quickly turned into an excited murmur. Hermione felt her chest fall at the news.

"What happened to Professor Jones? He hadn't said anything about leaving," she said quietly to the boys.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe he retired?"

"Retired? He couldn't have been over the age of sixty, Harry," she whispered crossly.

Their attention was brought back down to Headmaster Fontaine when he continued speaking, "He comes highly recommended, brings excellent opinions on magical theories, and implements teaching methods that I'm sure will get you all excited about learning in his class this year! Please make a warm welcome for Professor Nathair!"

Hermione watched in shock as the boy that had kissed her hand earlier walked into the center of the room. There was a thunderous round of applause, especially from the female student populace.

"You have  _got_ to be kidding me," Draco said. He gripped the banister to crane his neck to get a better look at the new professor.

" _He's_ our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? He doesn't look a day over twenty," Harry flustered.

"A day over twenty? He doesn't look a day over  _seventeen_ ," Hermione added. She felt incredibly embarrassed for thinking that this young man was their age. From what she could overhear from the students around her, they all seemed to be thinking the same thing. He looked  _far_  too young to be a teacher.

"Now, now. Looks can be deceiving. He's not as young as he appears. While Professor Nathair has been  _incredibly_ blessed with good genetics – which isn't fair, if you don't mind me saying so – he has also been blessed with an incredible mind. Now, I'm sure you're all very tired. I'd like the Vice Presidents from last year to escort the new members of your house to your respective dormitories. Don't forget that breakfast will start being served at six a.m., sharp. You are dismissed!"

The students began moving around her, making their descent down the stairs on either side of the balconies. Hermione had been a Vice President last year, so she knew that she was supposed to find the newly sorted Horned Serpents, but she couldn't bring herself to budge.

The boy – no, the  _professor_ was looking up at her. The corners of his mouth turned up slowly when he caught her eyes. Then, he turned around, and exited the room. Hermione let a shaky exhale escape from her nostrils.

"Oi, Hermione! Are you coming?" Draco called from halfway down the stairs.

She turned to him, and nodded. "Yes!"

Her hand trembled. The feeling of his lips lingered on her knuckles, and seared through her skin.


	2. Book I. Heir

**Book I. Heir**

* * *

The weeks had gone by and Autumn was quickly approaching on Mount Greylock. The leaves on the beech trees had long lost their greens, and were instead replaced with a fiery explosion of yellows, oranges, and reds. The crispness of the mid-morning air brought life into Hermione's lungs when she stepped outside, and into the main courtyard.

Students of all ages were walking across the courtyard to their first class of the day. Hermione adjusted the golden Gordian knot pinned to her cranberry colored blazer. Her fingers slid over to the silver badge sitting next to it and she smiled proudly. She had won the role of Student President in a landslide victory. She had told Harry and Draco that she felt like she hadn't really earned it, because no one else had ran against her. Then they told her it was because everyone else that wanted to run  _knew_  that they didn't stand a chance; plus, it was almost expected of her. It made her feel just a little bit better.

Hermione stopped walking when she heard someone calling her name. Draco came running up to her, and tried catching his breath.

"Hermione! I told you to wait for me," he said, and repositioned his expensive looking leather satchel on his shoulder.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and began walking again. "I did wait for you. I told you I'd wait for five minutes. I waited for five minutes and then I left."

"You realize that most people use that time frame as a rough estimate, right?"

"Five minutes is still five minutes, Draco."

"Bloody Hell, do you always have to be so literal?" he asked.

Hermione smiled to herself. "Yes." There was a small sort of gratification out of being difficult for no good reason. She felt  _so_  in control.

"Whatever," Draco grumbled. When they arrived at the main part of the castle where classes were held, Draco held the door open for them. "Have you chosen a topic for your thesis in Alchemy yet?"

"Of course," she said as they walked through the brightly lit corridor, trying very hard not to bump into the first year that accidentally walked in front of her. She smiled down at the wide-eyed boy. "Excuse me, dear."

The boy's face turned red and he quickly moved out of the way.

"What are you doing yours on?" Draco asked.

"My thesis topic is on the pros and cons of creating the perfect Panacea."

When they reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Draco opened the door again. They made their way to an empty table, and sat down. This third period Defence class was a combination of students from Horned Serpent and Thunderbird; so, Harry wasn't in their class.

Draco looked at her appraisingly. "Interesting choice. I wonder if it's too late to change my thesis on the distilling effects of Aquavitæ..."

She gave him a withering look. "I've already laid official claim to it, so don't get any ideas."

He looked put off, and pouted. "Fine."

A collective swoon from the female population of the class indicated that Professor Nathair had stepped into the room. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but good manners prevented her from doing so. She internally winced when her heart rate increased as he walked by her. She hated herself for being so susceptible.

It had been bad enough that he was young and incredibly good looking, but throwing his increased intelligence on top of it all really took the cake. Hermione always liked to joke around that the brain was the most attractive feature on a person, and Professor Nathair's brain was  _awfully_  pretty.

"Good morning, class. Today we'll be going over the different variations of the shield charm. But, before we begin the lesson, I'd like you to pass in your summaries of chapter five. Ms. Granger?"

Hermione nearly jumped out of her chair when Professor Nathair called her name. "Yes, Professor?"

"Please collect your classmate's summaries, would you?" he asked. Hermione nodded, then stood up to start gathering the assignments.

Professor Nathair picked up a piece of chalk, and began writing on the board while he spoke, "Now, other than the basic Protego charm, there are four other variations of it. Can anyone name them for me?"

Hermione suddenly ignored the girl that was trying to hand her assignment over in favor of raising her hand excitedly.

Professor Nathair hadn't bothered turning around from the chalkboard when he said ironically, "Anyone  _other_  than Ms. Granger?"

There were snickers heard 'round. Hermione felt her face burn from embarrassment, and brought her hand down. She snatched the paper out of the girl's waiting hand with a little more force than what was necessary. If no one else was going to answer the question, why couldn't she?  _Annoying, irritating, conceited_ …

"Sir, the four variations to the Protego charm are: Protego Duo, Protego Horribilis, Protego Maxima, and Protego Totalum," Draco answered efficiently.

"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy," the professor wrote down the names of the charms on the board, then continued, "Can anyone tell me the main function of these charms?"

Hermione knew better than to try and raise her hand again. She had quickly realized that Professor Nathair had given her this job intentionally. It felt like a physical sort of pain that settled deep within her bones. Oh, the  _agony._

"Protego Duo is essentially a stronger form of the regular Protego shield charm. Protego Horribilis is a shield charm that protects a wider area, instead of just protecting the caster. Protego Totalum is similar to Protego Horribilis, but the main difference between the two is that Protego Totalum helps conceal the caster from…unwanted visitors," Draco answered.

Hermione blinked in surprise as she collected the last of the assignments, and walked to the front of the class.  _Color me impressed, Draco Malfoy_.

Professor Nathair's eyebrows quirked up. "I'm glad  _someone_  actually read chapter five," he muttered to himself, but most of the class had heard him. Hermione watched his eyes travel over the rest of the class, and noticed  _quite_  a few of them shrunk down in their seats from the weight of his stare.

Hermione walked up to his desk with the stack of parchment in hand and Professor Nathair's eyes fell on her.

"Ms. Granger," he started with a condescending smirk, "Perhaps you could tell us more about the last shield charm? I know it must have been so… _excruciating_ for you to not answer a single question within the last five minutes."

 _Pompous git._ Her nostrils flared in agitation while she momentarily lost her temper. She unceremoniously dropped the stack of parchment on his desk, and crossed her arms. There were gasps and murmurs coming from behind her. He looked at the parchment strewn haphazardly across his desk with a raised eyebrow, then slowly looked back up at her.

"The Protego Maxima shield charm conjures an almost impenetrable magical barrier of a larger scale, when cast in combination with the Fianto Duri and Repello Inimicum charms. Furthermore, any person that is on the outside vicinity of the shield cannot see or hear the witch or wizard on the other side," Hermione finished off her oxygen supply at the same time she had finished her sentence.

She quickly found her temper that she'd previously lost when his eyes darkened. She swallowed, and felt anxious of the potential repercussions for her actions.

"Take a seat, Ms. Granger – and don't make any plans to leave immediately after class."

Hermione flinched at his words, and felt concerned for her title as Student President.  _What had she been thinking?_  She was supposed to be setting an example.  _Yes_ , he had been incredibly rude for no good reason, but that didn't mean she had to bite the bait so easily.

She felt Draco give her knee a reassuring squeeze after she made her walk of shame back to her seat. She returned the comfort with a small smile in thanks.

Hermione didn't raise her hand for the rest of class; but she hadn't needed to – Professor Nathair hadn't asked anymore questions for the rest of the period.

She stood in stubborn silence in front of his desk after everyone had left. Both were silent, waiting for the other to speak first. Both wanted an apology that the other didn't want to give. Both were growing impatient, so Hermione waved her wand wordlessly over the strewn parchment. They both watched as they stacked into a neat pile.

Professor Nathair leaned forward in his desk chair. He set his elbows on the desk, and brought his fingertips together in consideration. He looked at her like  _she_  was the one who had been out of line. It didn't matter how pretty his brain,  _or_ his face was. Draco was right. _He is a pompous, arrogant…_

"Care to explain what that was all about, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione blinked at his audacity. " _Excuse_  me, sir?"

"Do you hold this much attitude with your other professors? I'm beginning to wonder how you even got elected as -" Professor Nathair began, but was interrupted by Hermione's indignation.

"I beg your  _pardon_ , sir; but my other professors don't mind me answering questions in class. Typically, it's even encouraged. It has never been an issue before. Do I annoy you? Or have I offended you in some way?" she asked. She hadn't meant to be so bold, but well…there it was.

His eyebrows raised up in mild surprise at her words, and he smirked. "Far from it, Ms. Granger. I just believe in giving other students a fair chance."

"Forgive me for saying this, but it hasn't exactly felt that way."

"Let's just say that I have… _higher expectations_  of you," he said enigmatically.  _Higher expectations?_

"What is that supposed to mean, professor?"

He stood up and walked around his desk. He began to circle her appraisingly. "Don't think that I haven't heard what the other teachers say about you, Ms. Granger. A  _Muggleborn_  witch that was only introduced to the magical world at age eleven, and is  _by far_  the brightest witch of her age – even more so than many adults. Headmaster Fontaine even talks of your  _likeness_  of the founder of the school, Isolt Sayre. Brilliant, ambitious, resilient, perceptive, competent,  _compassionate_."

Hermione froze when he stopped at her side, and picked up one of her curls. He examined the curl first, and then her face. His eyes traveled to look at one of the many portraits of Isolt Sayre that decorated various walls throughout the castle. He dropped the curl, and sounded almost  _appalled_  at the idea as he whispered, "You even  _look_  like her, you know. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Hermione let out a shaky breath, and took a step away from him. He smelled and looked too good to possibly be allowed. She glanced at the portrait hanging up on the wall, and noticed the similarities for the first time: petite frame, wild, brown curls, a heart-shaped face, fair skin littered with freckles, and amber eyes. She shook her head. "No. You'd be the first."

He was silent for several moments, as if he were considering his next words. His eyes rested on the portrait again. "She is a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin - one of the founders of Hogwarts. She was even in possession of his wand – did you know that? According to legend, her aunt, Gormlaith Gaunt, spoke Parseltongue to it. Gormlaith ordered it to sleep. Isolt couldn't speak Parseltongue, so it never worked for her again."

Hermione looked up at the portrait of the beautiful woman. She frequented the library daily, so she knew the legend well. She said, "Supposedly, she buried the wand on the school grounds somewhere, before the castle was ever built. No one knows where she buried it – where she buried Slytherin's legacy."

She looked back at Professor Nathair to see him gazing at her intently. She swallowed and said, "According to legend, of course. There's no proof that it's true – just stories."

"Yes, of course," he said. His voice was distant, but his intense presence poisoned the air around her. It made it difficult for her to breathe.

Hermione tightened her eyes at him. She wasn't quite sure if she enjoyed being alone with him. "I'm sorry, Professor Nathair, but was there a point to keeping me after class? I'm supposed to tutor third-years in the study hall soon."

When he tilted his head to the side, it looked like his eyes flashed red – a trick of the light. He abruptly walked back to his desk, and pulled out a small book. He gently tossed it on the desk in her direction. "Yes, actually. Don't take this as an offense, but I've noticed that your grasp on some of the theories of offensive spellwork could use some… _improvement_. I think this will help you."

The barb from his offense-that-was-not-really-meant-to-be-an-offense stung her pride, but she knew that he was right. Defence  _was_  her weakest subject, after all. She picked up the small book, and read the title:  _Offensive Magical Theory for the Advanced Learner_. She'd been expecting to get a detention, or at least be reprimanded…not to be given a book.

The door behind them opened and the students for his next class began filing in. She tucked the book away in her leather satchel.

"Thank you, Professor. I'll see you in class next week," she said politely.

"Indeed."

Hermione left the classroom feeling confused, yet excited to read something new.

Maybe there was a good chance of Horned Serpent winning the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tribute this year.

* * *

The book was so informative that Hermione had read through it not just once, not just twice, but seven times. As she read it, any person walking by could see an arrangement of color coded tabs sticking out in every which direction. She'd studied the passages; she'd implemented the material; she'd improved drastically.

An explosion of fiery Autumn leaves burst in the air above Hermione's head, and caused her to slip on the frosty lawn and land on her bum with a muffled thud. She blinked in astonishment from the large mound of leaves surrounding her, then heard laughing behind her.

"Harry!"

"It wasn't me!" he defended. That's when she noticed Draco grinning like a madman at her. She got up and shook the leaves off her clothes, and out of her hair. She carefully put the book away in her satchel, and set it down in the leaves.  _Time for some of that implementation._

The boys both looked concerned at the determination on her face. Hermione aimed her wand toward the line of trees to her right, whipped her hand like a lasso, and chanted, "Ventus Duo!"

Their looks of concern morphed into surprise when they saw a small tornado of thousands upon thousands of leaves hurdling their way. They didn't have any time to react before it hit them full force.

It was Hermione's turn to laugh. Harry was frantically searching for his wand and his glasses, and Draco was spitting leaves out of his mouth. She barely had time to react when Draco ran over to her, easily lifted her over his shoulder, and spun around several times.

"Draco! Put me down!" she said, still laughing.

"No. I don't think that I will. You deserve to be chastised after that," he said jokingly.

She was about to scold him again, when he slipped in the leaf pile, and they both went stumbling to the ground in a mess of limbs. Draco managed to brace himself from crushing her as they found themselves face to face. The playful air around them thickened. Draco's eyes looked heavy as they dragged across her face, and then to her lips. Her heartbeat thud, thud, thudded against her ribcage in anticipation. Then, he dipped down, and kissed her softly.

Her mind was reeling. The kiss was nice, but it felt…foreign. It didn't feel wrong, but it didn't feel  _right_ , either.

Draco broke away from Hermione, and looked at her face, as if he was gauging her reaction. She felt her face flush, and the corner of her mouth quirked up slightly. Her brain was a fog as it tried to recalibrate itself.

"It's about bloody time."

They both turned to look up at a grinning Harry adjusting his glasses, and picking leaves out of his hair.

Hermione flushed even deeper and said, "Oh, be quiet, Harry."

Draco rolled off her, and stood up. He smirked down of her and he offered her his hand to help her up. She accepted it, but instead of just helping her up, he pulled her to him roughly, and kissed her again. She clutched onto his shoulders to brace herself against his display of dominance, and rewarded him kindly for it. They could hear whooping from Harry, and giggling from a passing group of girls.

Hermione broke the kiss first, and felt incredibly overwhelmed by it all. She was far too embarrassed to look him directly in the face right after kissing him, so she clung to him in a hug. Draco obliged, and returned her hug tightly.

The moment Draco buried his face in her hair is the moment she noticed him. There, in the distance, over Draco's shoulder, was Professor Nathair. He had been watching them. The emotionless look on his face caused the saliva in her mouth to coagulate.

A strong, frigid gust caused his black scarf and black hair to dance violently in the wind. She watched him slide his gloved hands into his charcoal peacoat, and turned to walk toward the castle.

It was his dispassionate gaze that caused the trepidation to bubble and fester in the lining of her stomach.

Hermione skipped dinner that night.

Between Draco's unexpected affections, and Professor Nathair's presence, she had felt rather ill.

* * *

The bubbling and festering had come back with a vengeance three weeks later when Professor Nathair asked her to come to his classroom after her lessons were finished for the day.

When she cracked open his classroom door, she noticed that his back was to her. She closed the door soundlessly, and walked up to his desk. He still hadn't noticed her, so she took the opportunity to observe him.

He was hunched over some sort of miniature chest, but he wasn't doing anything with it. He wasn't putting anything in, or taking anything out – just looking in it. She narrowed her eyes in speculation. Now that Hermione paid closer attention, it sounded like he was  _whispering_  to it. She wanted to know what was in it. Was it a magical creature they were to learn about next week?

Curiosity won out, as usual. The leather satchel she was holding bumped up against his desk when she inched forward. She internally cursed her clumsiness, and externally winced when he slammed the chest closed.

"Ms. Granger," he said. She felt her curiosity being crushed as he slid the chest into a large drawer, and locked it.  _Oh, well._  "I didn't hear you knock."

"That's because I didn't," she stated brusquely.

The corners of his lips curved up at her bluntness. "That's rather impolite, you know."

She found herself staring at his mouth, and blinked herself out of her stupor. Good,  _Lord_. She needed to get out of here, and quickly. She adjusted the satchel on her shoulder to keep herself preoccupied. "You asked to see me, sir?"

He leaned over his desk, and rested his weight on both of his palms. That's when she noticed that his tie was gone and the first few buttons of his dress shirt were undone. She could see the smooth muscle rippling underneath his skin. The same shade of charcoal his hair held was also littered across his lower abdomen. She averted her eyes to the chalkboard behind his head, and steadied her breath.

"Yes. I wanted to ask: how do you feel about your grasp on offensive magical theory now?" he asked, seemingly unaware, or either unperturbed about the effect his presence had on her.

Offensive magic. Magical theories. Paragraphs. Sentences.  _Words_. Hermione reminded herself that she needed to speak  _words_. She licked her lips, then spoke, "The book has helped immensely, thank you. I hope that it has shown through in my work. I feel much more confident now."

Professor Nathair stood up straight again. Hermione felt relieved - and slightly disappointed - that she no longer had a view. He inclined his head at her, and wore a roguish look. "Let's see how confident you've really become, Ms. Granger."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.  _He couldn't possibly mean…_  "Sir?"

She'd barely managed to avoid the wordless jinx he threw at her by throwing herself flat on the hardwood floor. Her eyes went wide when his brandished wand flung a blue jinx her way. She lost her satchel underneath a desk when she rolled to avoid the spell.

Hermione pulled herself up from behind a desk, and peered at him over it to yell, "Are you  _mad_!?"

At this, he chuckled darkly. "Some say you need to be just a touch mad to do great things, Ms. Granger." He threw another jinx at her and she dove again. The chair that she'd been next to was now splintered and charred.

"Are you  _sure_  that you read the book I gave you?" he shouted over the sound of the debris falling to the floor. He sounded  _frustrated_.

" _Yes!_ " she screamed back furiously.

Professor Nathair lowered his wand and he sneered, "How  _disappointing_. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything exceptional from a  _Muggleborn_."

Something deep down in Hermione psyche snapped and it twisted her features into something foul. The building rage had made her blind to the malicious thrill etched across his face. The building rage had made her unaware that she'd flourished her wand. The building rage had made her oblivious that she'd sent an Incarcerous curse his way.

"How  _dare_  you! Take that back!"

He threw up a shield charm just in time to deflect her curse. " _No._  The reason you work so hard is to prove that you deserve to be here, isn't it? That you're different? Special?  _You're not special, Hermione Granger."_

Something about him having the audacity to use her first name while simultaneously insulting her sent her over the edge. Her wand arm went wild with movement.

 _Stupefy._ Dodged.  _Confringo._ Repelled. _Expulso._ Blocked. _Reducto._ Shielded.

"Is that really all you can do?" he asked after he had dissolved his shield.

Her nostrils flared in agitation once she realized what was going on.  _He was baiting her_. She should have realized it sooner. She reigned herself back in, allowed logic to take over, and lowered her wand. "If you only called me here to force me into an impromptu dueling lesson by offending me, then you're  _pathetic_. That's not how you teach your students."

His wand hand wavered at her words, but his tone remained calm. "You're perceptive; I'll give you that. But you may want to reconsider speaking to your professor in such an  _undignified_  manner."

"And  _you_  might want to reconsider  _your_  hypocrisy," she challenged. "What you're doing is  _completely_  unconventional."

Professor Nathair strode toward her angrily, and was so close that she could feel his breath fanning across her face. She froze, but stood her ground. He was trying to intimidate her and she  _refused_ to be rattled by him.

He unexpectedly seized her left wrist, and brought it up to his face, allowing his cool lips to slowly drag across her pulse. Hermione's eyes widened in shock. " _Nothing_  that is worth it is achieved by  _conventional_  means, Ms. Granger," he murmured into her skin.

Hermione felt her stomach clench and shiver as he went to guide the pound, pound, pounding of her pulse across the smooth skin of his bottom lip. She watched his eyelids flutter closed in an unhealthy fascination.

"And what, exactly, are you trying to achieve here?" she managed to breathe out.

His eyes sprang open, and took a catalogue of her face for several, long,  _excruciating_  seconds. Then he leaned forward, and whispered in her ear, "Maybe I'll let you know once I find out."

Hermione's inhale shuddered when she felt his mouth move against her ear. His fingers slid down her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She shivered.  _No_. This was  _wrong_  and she hated herself for  _enjoying_  it. She knew she needed to leave.

The moment she found herself tilting her neck for him was the moment she backed away from him. She sucked in a sharp inhale, as if she'd been burned. What was wrong with him? What was  _wrong_  with her? He was her  _professor_! Albeit, a very y _oung_ professor, but that was beside the point.

 _What about Draco?_ Yes, of course. Draco. They weren't  _official_ or anything –  _whatever_  their relationship was; but there was also Draco to consider.

The hunger on his face had been wiped clean away by her denial, and replaced by indifference. If her skin hadn't still burned from his touch, and if his chest weren't still heaving to catch his breath, she would have doubted it had ever happened to begin with. Her eyes flitted wildly about the classroom. She snatched her satchel up to her chest once she found it.

"I need to go."

"Yes. Of course. You may go."

She calmly walked out of his classroom with her head held high, thinking that she didn't need him to give her permission. She would have left – with, or without it.

* * *

The steady spiral of snow falling to the earth was the visual proof that Hermione needed to remind herself that it had been  _months_  since the incident in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

He only called on her when necessary. He didn't ask her to collect papers. She never caught him looking at her anymore.

Hermione felt relieved, but she also felt tense – like this was the calm before the storm. Maybe it was because slight disappointment had also accompanied her relief. Maybe, deep down, she  _wanted_  him to look at her like he used to.

She jumped slightly in surprise when a warm bottle of partially drunk butterbeer was stuck in front of her vision.

Draco smirked down at her reaction, then twirled the bottle in front of her tauntingly. "I thought we were supposed to be sharing this."

The temperature of Hermione's face rose several degrees. She took the bottle out of his hand and took several sips, settling herself deeper into his side. His arm hung loosely over her shoulder as they sat together in their common room. She had begun to absentmindedly run her finger over the lip of the bottle as she silently speculated.

The pressure of Draco's arm felt heavier. "I know that look. What's the matter?" he asked, retrieving the bottle back from her to take another sip.

Hermione licked the remaining butterbeer off her lips and answered, "Why does something have to be the matter? I'm just thinking, is all."

Draco raised his eyebrow. "Right."

"I am!"

"No need to get so defensive," Draco's said, his laugh echoed when he chuckled into the neck of the bottle.

"I'm not," she muttered as she nestled her face into his side. She felt his chest rise and fall in a contented sigh.

"So, what are you thinking about, then?"

"Something I read in the last chapter in our Arithmancy assignment," she lied. She knew Draco hated Arithmancy. Too many formulas, runes, and rules to remember, he said.

His nose crinkled.  _Bingo._ "Yeah, maybe I  _don't_  want to know what you're thinking about," he stated. He took another swig before handing the bottle back again. "Here, you finish it. I need to go use the loo."

Hermione cringed, but found herself entertained at his comfortable vulgarity. She smiled at Draco as they disentangled themselves from each other. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss. "I'll be right back."

"Alright," she smiled.

After Draco left, so did her smile. She watched the blizzard continue its madness out of the large window in the dormitory.

Why couldn't she stop thinking about the incident with Professor Nathair? Is it because she never told anyone about what had happened? Or was it because she was secretly hoping it would happen again?

The turmoil, guilt, and self-disgust roiled in her gut at the realization.

Graduation couldn't come soon enough.

Then, her mind would be free.


	3. Book I: Mayflowers

**Book I: Mayflowers**

* * *

Escapism tendencies had won out again. The only problem was – there was no escape from the buzzing going on in her mind. Buzzing like static. Buzzing like bees. Buzzing like white noise. Hermione wanted to make the buzzing stop.

When she wanted to make the buzzing stop, her solace was the written word. Facts, fictional – it didn't matter to her, at this point. She just needed to keep her mind distracted. Her favorite spot on the entire grounds of Ilvermorny was a small alcove hidden in the tower where the Pukwudgie's resided. There was a beautiful stained glass window that looked down onto the courtyard. When she wasn't reading, she would watch the students and staff walk about.

Hermione sat on a conjured pillow by the window, and read for several hours. The buzzing was still present but it was muffled now – like someone screaming into a pillow being smothered over their face. She shook her head at the morbid thought and her mind drifted.

She didn't know why, but her mind traveled to Professor Nathair. It had been that way consistently since that day. She thought of the way his stupid eyebrows rose when he was reading during meals. She thought of the stupid way his tone of voice would change when he was eager about a topic he was teaching in class. She thought of the stupid way his ridiculously long legs carried him effortlessly wherever he went. She thought of the stupid way his mouth twitched at the corners when he was annoyed with a student. Hermione thought of his lips with vivid detail in her mind, and shook her head to expel them.

Hermione sighed in frustration at her train of thought, leaned the back of her head against the wall, and closed her eyes. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she stop thinking of him? It was ridiculous and she felt horribly guilty about it.

This thought, in turn, made her think of Draco. Even  _Draco_  was confusing her. He still hadn't come out and said he wanted to date her, but he had made it more than obvious with his attention, touches, kisses, and gifts. His pride, combined with her stubbornness, had kept them in this weird sort of limbo for months now. She cared for Draco, very much so, but did she  _love_  him like that? Hermione sighed. Maybe. She really didn't know. Was love supposed to make you feel guilty and stressed all the time?

The loud echo of a door being slammed downstairs had been what had woken Hermione up. She let out a groan, and rubbed her eyes. She sat up from her place on the floor, and began rolling the kink out of her neck. When had she fallen asleep? She'd only come up to her favorite spot to read in solitude for a couple of hours, not to fall asleep. She must have been more tired than she had thought.

Hermione glanced out the stained-glass window she was next to, and her eyes went wide. It was dark.

"Oh, no!"

She scrambled to gather her books and parchment lying around her, and shoved them into her satchel. What time was it? She wasn't wearing her watch, so she had  _no_  idea. Why hadn't Harry or Draco come looking for her?  _Probably playing Quodpot again, now that most of the snow is gone._

After she collected her things, she made her way warily down the winding staircase, trying her best not to alert the Pukwdgies of her presence.

The Pukwudgie's Tower was her number one place to seek solitude, because  _none_  of the other students dared to enter. Pukwudgies were…temperamental creatures, who liked to grumble and complain a lot. They played the occasional trick, but were otherwise harmless. Most of the students just wanted to avoid their sour mood.

William always grumbled and complained, in typical Pukwudgie fashion, whenever Hermione was around him. But she knew that deep down, the little goblin-like creature was somewhat fond of her, so he allowed her to hide out in the upper part of the tower. He was the one in charge of all the other Pukwudgies; so, they had no choice but to begrudgingly allow her to hide in there, too.

Silently thanking whatever deities existed in the world for no one catching her in the tower, she silenced the door with her wand before opening it. It  _always_  squeaked, but she thought that Pukwudgies preferred to keep it that way. They were a paranoid bunch.

She looked around. She didn't hear or see anyone, but it was too dark to see that far. All she could hear was the occasional gust of wind blowing the newly budding leaves on the trees. Not wanting to take any chances at being caught out of bed, she cast the Disillusionment charm on herself, and shuddered at the coolness that trickled down her body.

As she tip-toed her way across the courtyard, she was thankful most of the snow had melted. There was just the slushy remnants hardened again by the night air.

Hermione stuck to the recesses of the buildings in the courtyard for cover – she didn't want to take any chances, even  _with_  the Disillusionment charm. She could see the elegant archway of her dormitory in the distance, when she heard whispering that made her breath stick in her throat. She flung her back up against the stone of the building to hide from whoever it was.  _Please don't be Headmaster Fontaine, please don't be Headmaster Fontaine._

The whispering had stopped. She tried to stop her pounding heart as she peeked around the corner. Her hand flew to her mouth to silence the gasp that expelled itself out of her mouth.

There, in the middle of the courtyard underneath the snakewood tree, was Professor Nathair. There was no  _way_  she'd be able to sneak by him without him hearing her, so she was forced to wait for him to leave. She couldn't even risk whispering the silencing charm on her feet. He was far too close.

She crouched down to make herself smaller, and watched him. He was slowly circling around the tree; his gaze traveled from trunk to top, and back down again. If Hermione didn't know any better, she would say that he was analyzing it. But why? She knew that many of the professors used the leaves in different salves and potions, because of their medicinal properties; but why come out in the middle of the night to study it?

The cynical part of her mind asked _: What was he trying to hide?_

Her eyes went wide when he pointed his wand at the base of the tree, and started chanting softly. A soft green light came from the tip of his wand. The ground underneath the tree seemed to shift slightly, because the branches swayed, and several of the leaves fluttered to the ground around him.

The shaking of the earth ceased and the soft glow from his wand died. The death of the light birthed a curse on his lips. Hermione followed his line of sight, and she understood why he'd cursed – the lights from several of the windows in the Pukwudgies tower came to life.

Hermione looked back at Professor Nathair just in time to see his form retreating toward the main castle. With a swish of his robes, he was gone.

Her gaze lingered back to the snakewood tree and her brows knit together in thought. What could he possibly have wanted with this old tree? If he had simply forgotten to collect leaves for a potion he was concocting, and needed them immediately, that would make sense coming out in the middle of the night. She glanced up at the moon playing peek-a-boo behind the clouds. It wasn't quite a full moon yet. The only problem was, Hermione couldn't think of a  _single_  potion that used the snakewood leaves as an ingredient that needed to be specifically brewed during a full moon.

Her memory of Professor Nathair hunched over the drawer in his classroom a few months back came flooding back to her. His hushed voice – his whispered hiss. She frowned, and was beginning to think that there was something  _else_  going on with the young professor that no one else was aware of.

After she'd decided that the coast was clear, she crept into the entrance of her dormitory. She was relieved to find that no one was in the common area. Hermione had been worried that Draco would have stayed up to wait for her.

A breath of relief escaped her once she realized that he hadn't waited up for her – he must have thought she'd already gone to bed for the night.

Hermione quietly slipped into her room. After she had finished getting ready for bed, she tried to sleep; but, unfortunately, sleep wouldn't come. With eyes forced shut, she gently rocked herself back and forth like she used to do as a child to lull herself to sleep.

Her brain was buzzing again. Whirring, whirring, buzzing, hissing.

_Hissing_.

Her eyes shot back open.

He'd been  _hissing_.

* * *

The next day was the first Saturday Hermione was supposed to meet William to help him tend to the Mayflower seedlings. The elder Pukwudgie preferred to plant the seeds himself. Hermione wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't trusted anyone else to help him, or if it was because of something  _else_.

During her fourth year at Ilvermorny – the first year William finally allowed her to help him care for his special flowers, she had arrived an entire half hour early in her excitement to help. If she had arrived at the time William had specified, she wouldn't have seen the poor goblin-like creature sat on the floors of the greenhouse, with his knobby, little hands covering his face. She wouldn't have seen the few tears trailing down his cheeks, or the glistening snot escaping his nostrils. She wouldn't have heard the unmistakable choked back sob of mourning.

William had always feigned ignorance at being the  _same_  William that had helped Isolt Sayre found Ilvermorny. Hermione had her speculations, but she always respected his privacy. No one really  _knew_  how long a Pukwudgie could live for, so it was entirely possible that he could be the  _same_  William who was best friends with Isolt.

It was the sight of a grieving William on the dirty floors of the school greenhouses that day that was  _proof_  to Hermione that he was the original William. He missed her terribly – he missed his best friend.

How horrible it must be to outlive those that you care about, and those that care about you.

Hermione remembered the way his surprised, yet hard eyes looked at her when he'd realized she'd arrived early that day – that day she caught the ever grumpy, ever tough Pukwudgie crying. They had said nothing to each other. She  _knew_  that William knew that she knew who he really was, and that's how their friendship had begun.

Hermione was the only one that knew William's secret, and she swore to him that it would die with her. He made her swear it. Even if he hadn't, she would never disrespect a Pukwudgie – especially him; and so, began this strange friendship that no one ever understood, and no one ever questioned.

A thought suddenly dawned on her while she was relocating one of the seedlings into a bigger pot – if William had been here since the  _beginning_ , did that mean he knew about the snakewood tree? She was certain that there wasn't any information about the tree in any of the books she'd read from the library. Honestly, not much was really  _known_  about the tree. Everyone knew the tree had remedial properties, but other than that? Nothing. She assumed it was because no one had bothered to find out. That tree had a purpose, it  _served_  its purpose, and that was that; no need to figure it out any further.

But Hermione was the type of person who  _wanted_  to find things out further. She knew her next spoken words would require tact, and eggshell stepping of the most precise nature.

"Say, William…" she started wisely, but William interrupted immediately.

"You and I both know diplomacy isn't your strong suit, girl. Just ask what you want to ask me, and be done with it," the little creature said impatiently, while wiping the soil from his hands on the rump of his pint-sized trousers.

Hermione's face reddened. Where she lacked in tactfulness, William made up for in blunt honesty. She chewed her bottom lip, and frowned as she tried to think of how she wanted to word her question. William preferred directness; so, directness is what she chose.

"Is there anything special about the tree in the courtyard?"

William stilled his little hands in the soil he was scooping into an empty pot. It was only for a split second, but Hermione had noticed it. "That old snakewood?"

Hermione nodded twice. There was a pregnant silence quickening between them.

"I don't know why you're even asking me," he grumbled out with a severe frown. "Everyone knows that the leaves are used in healing salves. There's also that  _useless_  hiccupping potion…"

"You  _know_  what I'm asking you, William," Hermione said shrewdly.

She watched as he slammed another handful of soil into the pot forcefully. He stopped to glare at her, and huffed in annoyance. His little, dark, beady eyes were full of wisdom, admiration, and sadness. "You mean you want to know why the tree is  _there_."

Hermione licked her dry lips, and swallowed anxiously. She had been about to say that,  _yes_ , she did want to know why the tree was there, but their conversation was interrupted when the door on the opposite side of the greenhouse burst open.

Her eyes widened in shock to see Professor Nathair sweeping into the room in a frenzy. He was quickly going from plant to plant – examining prongs, reading labels, sniffing blossoms. He was quite obviously looking for something in particular, but what that was, Hermione knew not.

So busy he was in his search, he hadn't even noticed that Hermione and William were standing in the greenhouse with him. It was William's bad-tempered, gravelly voice that made Professor Nathair jolt unexpectedly.

"If you keep handling my plants like that, Professor, I might be forced to separate your fingers from their knuckles," William barked out.

Professor Nathair's eyes landed on William, then moved to her. Hermione became painfully aware of her pulse, and the heat rising to her face. His eyes slid back down on William.

"My apologies. I ran out of an ingredient for a time-sensitive potion I'm brewing," he said smoothly.

William frowned. "And what is it that you're looking for? That way I might tell you and you can  _leave_ ," he snarled.

Hermione shifted her weight nervously. William was the most difficult Pukwudgie to get along with, even for staff, but she'd never seen him behave so hostilely toward anyone before.

If the professor was offended by William, he didn't show it. In fact, his face displayed almost nothing - perhaps bored indifference.

Professor Nathair clasped his hands behind his back and said, "I was looking for a mature Comfrey plant. If you could point me in the right direction, then I'll be out of your…" he trailed off for a brief moment. His eyes slid back to Hermione with a small smirk, then took a deliberate sweep of her windswept curls. "… _hair_."

Hermione felt like someone had set her face on fire and she swallowed nervously. Was he  _flirting_  with her?

William didn't say anything; he simply pointed to a spot down the row from where Professor Nathair was standing with a deep scowl, then continued his work on the Mayflowers.

The corner of Professor Nathair's mouth twitched up once before he turned around, picked a few pink blossoms off the plant, and left the greenhouse without another word. Hermione stared at the door he'd just walked out of in a trance.

"And that," William said bitterly with another toss of soil, "is all the answer you need for your question."

Hermione blinked herself out of her daze, hardly comprehending his words. "W-what?"

"The tree. You're not a stupid mouth-breather like the other students here, Hermione. You already know why the tree is  _special_ ," he spat. "You don't need me to spell it out for you. You already know."

The jagged pieces fell into place and she inhaled sharply.  _No._

" _Slytherin's wand_. So, it's true, then? Slytherin's wand is buried  _underneath_  the tree?" she whispered.

William made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat before he spoke. "I saw him last night," was all he said.

Hermione's heart plummeted. If William saw Professor Nathair, then did that also mean that he also saw…?

"I know you were there, too. Don't try to deny it," he said in a humored tone. Well, humored for William, at least.

She scrunched her face up before saying, "I wasn't  _going_  to deny it. I fell asleep in the tower again. I was trying to get back to the dorms, but then I saw…well, I don't know  _what_  I saw."

"Treachery. You witnessed  _treachery_ ," William whispered, more to himself than to Hermione.

The buzzing commenced. If what William was insinuating was  _true_ , then that meant Slytherin's wand was buried underneath the tree in the courtyard; but if Professor Nathair was trying to move the tree, then that meant – Hermione gasped.

"Why would he want Slytherin's wand? How does he even  _know_  about it?" she hissed out in a hurried whisper, afraid that he might still be nearby.

William's eyes focused on the Mayflower sprout in his hand, seemingly lost in thought. "I don't know, but I have a feeling that we'll find out soon enough."

* * *

As soon as Hermione had finished helping William in the greenhouses, she'd decided to go visit Harry. He hadn't been feeling well that week, so he'd gone to the nurses' office to figure out what was going on with him. The initial results had been inconclusive, so he'd been admitted for the weekend for further testing.

With Harry's schoolwork and belongings in his bag, Hermione slung it over her shoulder with a heave, and made her way to the nurses' office.

On her way there, she'd been thinking. Thinking about what she'd seen the night before – thinking about what William had told her.

Was Professor Nathair really trying to get Slytherin's wand? Now that she thought more about it, why would he? It would be of no use to him, if the legends were true.

Hermione thoughts were muddled by the time she arrived at Harry's bedside. She temporarily forgot them when she took in the sight of her best friend – he didn't look well. At all.

"Oh, my goodness, Harry," she gasped.

"That bad?" he asked in weak humor, and somehow managed to push himself up into a sitting position. Harry had always had a rather normal skin tone – not pale, but not tan - somewhere right in between. But now? He looked pale, his hair limp across his forehead, and his entire stature seemed weak.

Hermione swallowed. "You don't look  _terrible_ , but I wasn't expecting this. I would have rushed here first thing this morning if I knew. I'm so sorry."

Harry gave her a modest smile. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. I feel better than I look, I promise; but I guess I can forgive you as long as you didn't bring me my homework."

Her eyes widened and she tried to shift Harry's bad of schoolwork behind her. "I – uh…"

Harry laughed. "I'm kidding."

She sighed, and sat down in the chair next to his bed. "So, have they found out anything new?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah. I think it's just a killer migraine, but the results came back showing that it wasn't. Actually, nothing showed up."

"What are your symptoms?"

"Other than the headache? Nothing. I mean, I got sick once, because the pain was so bad."

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "You're probably right. Sounds like a bad migraine to me."

"Yeah, and I'm feeling loads better now."

"That's good," she said, the conversation fizzling out. Hermione started tentatively, "Harry…do you remember the last year we went to Hogwarts?"

The tired humor on Harry's face was quickly replaced by a distant sorrow. "Of course, I remember. Why would you ask something like that?"

"Well, I've been thinking…"

"What else is new?" he joked.

Hermione gave him a withering look.

"Sorry, continue," he smiled.

" _Anyway_ , I've been thinking about the Chamber of Secrets lately. Do you remember when everyone thought that  _you_  were the heir of Slytherin?" she asked.

Harry scoffed. "How could I forget? People around  _here_  have finally stopped thinking it was me."

"You remember why, right?" she asked, but she was lost in thought. She looked out the window, and scrunched up her nose.

His dark eyebrows knit together in confusion, and followed her line of sight. Once he realized that she wasn't looking at anything in particular, he turned back to her. "You know why; because I can talk to snakes. What was it called again? Parseltongue? Or was it 'mouth'?" he paused for a few seconds, then his eyes narrowed at her suspiciously. "What are you getting at, Hermione?"

_Parseltongue._

Hissing.

Like a  _snake_.

Hermione blinked rapidly, and smiled sadly at a bewildered Harry. She stood, and gathered her things. "Oh, nothing Harry. You know how often I think about…what happened."

Harry returned her sad smile. "Yeah. Best not to think about it, right?"

"Right," she said with a cheerful nod of the falsest nature. "Anyway, I'd better be going. I'm sure Draco is wondering where I am. And make sure you do some homework!"

He grinned, and rolled his eyes. "Yes,  _mum_."

Hermione grinned at him, and left. She determinedly walked through the halls of Ilvermorny, but not to go see Draco like she'd said. She was going to the school library. Research was required and information was necessary.

Being the type of person who relied heavily on logic and facts meant she was also the type of person who liked knowing she was absolutely right before jumping to conclusions. Hermione needed those facts, because the conclusions she was jumping to seemed so unbelievable – so improbable, that…well, it was just outrageous.

* * *

After several hours were spent at the library, Hermione had discovered that the conclusions she'd jumped to weren't as outrageous as she'd originally thought.

And now – well, now she was uneasy.

She'd researched Salazar Slytherin's family tree; well, what she could find of it, at least. Everyone at Ilvermorny knew that Isolt Sayre was one of his descendants, but that Slytherin's line had eventually fizzled out.

That fact left Hermione thinking, though; it could be possible, of course, that not  _everyone_  was listed on a family tree, right? People had illegitimate children all the time. Had someone from Salazar's line had a child out of wedlock? Or maybe they had a child they didn't know about and a new line continued, unbeknownst to everyone else? It was a possibility.

Hermione tucked her legs underneath her, and leaned back in one of the plush arm chairs by the window in the library. She chewed on the end of a pencil eraser absently, glanced out the window, and watched the water in the lake ripple from the waterfall.

Was it possible that Professor Nathair was an unknown descendent of Slytherin? It would certainly explain a few things, that's for sure. It would explain why he could speak Parseltongue and it would also explain why he was curious about Slytherin's wand.

Not that she thought it was right, of course. Let sleeping snakes lie, and all that. But she could understand from  _his_  viewpoint on why he'd be curious. She was curious herself, after all…

Hermione dropped the eraser from her mouth, and made a decision. Whether it was the right decision or not, she did not know. She squashed the tiny feelings of guilt bubbling up that she might be betraying William in favor of potentially studying an ancient artefact that had been missing for hundreds of years. If Professor Nathair was going to go after it anyway, and if he was entitled to it, then why not take advantage of the situation?

If he was really Isolt Sayre's descendent, then the wand rightfully belonged to him, right?

_Right_.

Now, all she had to do was get closer to Professor Nathair. She tried to ignore the way her stomach flopped at the thought. He made her so anxious in an anticipatory way that the very idea of being alone with him  _at all_  made her tense. Hermione straightened herself out in a determined sort of fashion.

She would put up with him, and ignore her feelings. For science, and for research.

* * *

At first, Hermione had thought that Professor Nathair would give her a more difficult time on being his teacher's aide. The very first time they met, he had been charming and chivalrous and charismatic – he'd seemed somewhat bemused by her. After that, he seemed to have viewed her as some sort of toy for his personal amusement in class, but he had also told her that she had potential. And then, after  _that_ , he'd acted so strangely, invading her personal space for only a moment in a way that was entirely inappropriate. Then, for months, he'd completely ignored her existence.

So, when Hermione asked him about it, stating that she'd like to have something extra to help boost her resume after graduation, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. It had looked like he was going to tell her 'no', but then his eyebrows furrowed together for a moment. He had stared out the classroom window and Hermione couldn't stop herself from staring at his profile – he was absolutely  _beautiful_  and it really wasn't fair. So beautiful he was, in fact, that she'd hardly heard him when he'd finally told her 'yes'.

She'd blinked in surprise, and flushed in embarrassment. He had been smirking at her. He'd caught her staring at him.

Oh, how she'd wished that a black hole would swallow her up then, and suck her down into its dark, beautiful, merciful void.

Professor Nathair was still smirking at her, even as she left his classroom with her head held high.


	4. Book I: Ethos

**Book I: Ethos**

* * *

Hermione couldn't help but notice that Professor Nathair looked rather under the weather when she arrived to help organize his classroom after she was done with classes for the day. At first, she didn't notice it right away. He looked like his normal, arrogant self – perfectly put together.

Upon closer inspection, though, she could see the subtle sheen of the glamour underneath his eyes whenever the sunlight hit his face in just the right way. His already pale skin looked even paler and his hair looked relatively dull. Maybe he wasn't sleeping well? Maybe he wasn't eating well? Was he stressed out from his job?

Hermione couldn't help but to think that it was something else entirely. When had she become so suspicious of him? This wasn't like her.

Then again, she  _did_  catch him attempting to uproot the old snakewood in the courtyard last week. And if what William told her was true, she had every reason to be suspicious. She was still trying to figure out how to get more information out of him without alerting him as to what she was trying to do, but she wasn't entirely sure how to go about doing that. Professor Nathair was a brilliant man; he would surely see through her plan in a heartbeat and who  _knew_  how he would react if he found out.

Well, Hermione supposed she'd just have to make sure he didn't find out, then. But how?

Hermione continued organizing the clutter on the shelves other students had messed up with a few wordless waves of her wand. She rolled her eyes. They were slobs, honestly. How difficult was it to put the things they used away? They had magic to do that. It's not as if they had to put things away the Muggle way; they were just being lazy.

While she was busy grumbling in her head about how irresponsible her fellow classmates were, she came across a stack of parchments that had important-looking diagrams drawn on them. She picked them up, and glanced through them for a moment. They were a bit darker in nature, and did  _not_  look like they should be sitting on a shelf for a first year to see.

Hermione stood up from her crouched position and called, "Professor Nathair?"

"Yes?" he replied, and looked up from the stack of essays he was grading. His eyes didn't stray from her as she walked over to his desk.

She opened one of the scrolls and asked, "Would you like these put elsewhere? I'm not sure if you want these left out for prying eyes."

His eyebrows rose slightly when he looked at the scroll. He looked back down at the papers in front of him, and said, "Right. You can put them away in the second drawer on the right of my desk."

"Alright," she nodded, and walked around his desk to stand next to him. Being this close next to him sent her heart racing and she had to keep reminding herself to get a grip. She was being ridiculous –  _absolutely_  ridiculous. She was no better than the other girls and she hated herself for it.

She reached down to open the drawer, but Professor Nathair's hand shot out to grasp hers as soon as it covered the handle. Hermione jumped in surprise, and stared down at him with wide eyes. He wasn't looking at her, but at their joined hands. His fingers were cold.

"Sir?"

He stared at his fingers clasped over hers with furrowed brows for several moments before he licked his lips, and sharply said, "I didn't mean the drawer on  _your_  right, Ms. Granger. I meant the one on  _mine_."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Oh. I misunderstood," she muttered, and went to drop her hand away. She didn't fail to notice the way his fingers lingered on hers when her hand fell. Her fingers flexed at her side when he finally pulled away and she made her way to the other side of his desk. She opened the correct drawer, and carefully put the scrolls away.

"Thank you," he said quietly, never looking up from his papers.

She licked her bottom lip and replied, "You're welcome."

As she walked back to tidy up the rest of the shelves, she could feel his eyes on her the rest of the time. But he didn't say anything and  _she_  didn't say anything.

After she was finished, his charcoal eyes tunneled into hers when she made her awkward departure. "Same time next week?"

The corners of his mouth turned up in a roguish smile that made her feel light-headed. "Of course."

"Right. Well, see you next week, Professor," she somehow managed to say before grabbing her satchel, and leaving.

As she was walking through the brightly lit halls of Ilvermorny, she wondered what was so special about that drawer. She wondered why it was so special, because it was the same drawer she saw him hunched over last year. It was the same drawer that he spoke Parseltongue into.

Was it a pet snake, perhaps? If it were, why would he hide it in a drawer? It's not as if owning a snake was illegal in North America. Unless…it was an incredibly dangerous snake. Venomous, perhaps?

Hermione shook her head, and decided that maybe she was thinking too much on it. Maybe he just kept his money in that drawer – she didn't know and it wasn't any of her business. She needed to focus more on Slytherin's wand, and what he could possibly want it for. Maybe there was a way to prevent her professor from retrieving it before she found out?

"Hermione!"

Harry was walking briskly down the hall toward her with a smile on his face. Hermione grinned, and forgot all her previous troubles.

"Harry! I was just coming to see you! They released you early?"

Harry smiled. He looked  _so_  much better. It was as if he'd never been sick to begin with. "Yep. Nurse Griffiths said I was in the clear. Thank Merlin, too, because I was dying of boredom."

"Dying of boredom?" she asked, and crinkled her nose. "But I brought you all your classwork to finish, and those books to read."

"Exactly – I was  _dying_ , Hermione," he deadpanned.

Hermione shook her head, rolled her eyes, then smiled. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Harry."

"Not everyone loves schoolwork as much as you do. And look at you – a teacher's aide now?" he asked and she felt the smile on her face freeze. "Yeah, Draco told me about it. I'm not so sure he likes the idea of it, but it could be because of the teacher in question."

"Draco said that?"

"No, he didn't," he answered carefully, and scratched the back of his head. "But it was implied. You know how jealous he gets."

Hermione frowned, and crossed her arms. "Well, he's being ridiculous. There's absolutely no reason to be jealous. Unless he's jealous of  _cleaning shelves_ ; then, by all means, he should be green with envy."

"You  _know_  what I meant, Hermione.  _I_  know that he has no reason to be jealous, but maybe you should go talk to him?" he offered.

She stuck her lower lip out in a pout to go along with her frown. Why was she feeling so defensive? Hermione sighed, and dropped her arms in defeat. " _Fine_. I'll talk to him. But seriously, he has absolutely no reason to be jealous. Professor Nathair is our  _teacher_. Surely he sees how inappropriate that would be."

Harry just shrugged one shoulder, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I see that, but love makes you do strange things, yeah?"

Her heart wanted to drop, but it felt as if fishhooks latched into her veins to help suspend it in her chest.

_Love._

A word as beautiful as that shouldn't terrify her so.

But, it did.

* * *

Hermione had developed a plan.

It was probably  _stupid_.

Hermione  _knew_  that it was probably stupid to do this, but it didn't prevent her from doing it. It probably wouldn't work, honestly. It was so utterly rudimentary – so  _simple_ , that there was no way he wouldn't figure it out.

Unless, of course, it was so simple that he would never think of it. That was what she was banking on.

So, underneath the cover of the night, Hermione cast a permanent sticking charm on the snakewood tree, and ran back to her dormitory across the field.

* * *

Hermione was supposed to be watching Draco and Harry play a friendly pick-up game of Quodpot with other students – supposed to be, anyway. Watching Quodpot was a bit of a bore, if she were being entirely honest. She didn't care much for Quidditch, either, but at least it was more entertaining to watch, from what she could remember of it. She hadn't seen a game in years, but the feeling of how her heart would race whenever Harry would do a nose-dive when he saw the snitch had never left her.

So, they never got too upset with her when she'd sit on the sidelines with her nose in a book during most of the game. Her attention would usually be brought out long enough to witness a goal being made, or a tousle happening that she would reprimand them for.

Not today, though. No, today, her nose was buried deep in one of the books the librarian had pulled from her own personal library in her office. This one was a book about the Hogwarts Founders that was written specifically for people in America to read, so it went into further detail in assumption that the reader had no previous knowledge of them. While she did have some previous knowledge, reading about them from a different perspective was refreshing.

The other book she let Hermione borrow was the autobiography of Isolt Sayre. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't surprised that the librarian let her borrow that book. While it wasn't the only copy of the book in circulation, it was still an uncommon find. She had decided to keep that book in her room to go over in private. It was difficult to read Pilgrim-talk from the 1600s, so Hermione was forced to research words and phrases she wasn't accustomed to. It was tedious work, but she was hoping she'd find some sort of information on the snakewood tree or family history – hoping, of course. She knew it was unlikely there was anything in the book that would give her answers in black and white about how to get the wand, but there could be  _something_  she could use in it.

"Why do you even bother coming to these things if you have your nose shoved in a book the entire time?"

Hermione's head shot up to see a sweaty Draco holding his broomstick, and smiling down at her. "Probably because you asked me to?"

Draco plopped down next to her, and fell back on the grass. "You're such a wonderful girlfriend," he joked.

Her eyebrows shot up and she stared at him. "Oh, so are we official now?"

He frowned, and looked at her in bewilderment. "Official? Hermione, we've been dating since October. It's almost April."

She felt her discomfort rise, and tried to distract herself by picking at blades of grass. "Yes, well…you never officially  _asked_  me, so I wasn't sure."

He continued staring at her. "You weren't…sure?"

"Well…er," she faltered, feeling like a complete idiot.

Draco sat back up, and brought himself close enough to her face so their noses were brushing. She froze, and looked into his icy blue eyes uneasily. "Hermione?" he asked.

"Yes?" she whispered.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

Her heart beat frantically in her chest. She didn't want to answer. She didn't want the finality of it all. Why? Why wouldn't she? Would it be any different? It  _wouldn't_  be any different. No, it would be  _official_  now. God, she was being ridiculous. It wasn't as if her freedom was being stolen from her. It was just a relationship – that's all it was. It wasn't marriage. It wasn't 'til death do us part. She wasn't signing her life away.

Then why did it feel like she was? Why was she panicking? She'd never been in a relationship before, so maybe she had commitment issues she wasn't aware of? Yes, that had to be it. Hermione valued her independence above nearly everything else in her life.

Hermione nodded slowly and he kissed her. His fingers ghosted over her neck and they thread through her hair and he kissed her and he kissed her and she kissed him back.

And she kissed him back.

Nothing had really changed.

Then why did it feel so different this time?

* * *

Grading papers was much more enjoyable than cleaning shelves, Hermione had to admit. Although, the tension in the room was much thicker this time, as they were sitting across from each other in the sitting area of his office; the only thing separating them now was a low coffee table that was strewn with third-year essays on Erklings – nasty creatures, they were. The only thing that calmed her nerves was the fact that he'd left his office door wide open –  _anyone_  could see them if they walked into his classroom. Rumors were something that Hermione wasn't particularly fond of.

Speaking of rumors, Isolt Sayre's family tree was well-documented after she arrived in America, but Hermione needed more information to go on – his schooling, his family, his favorite color…just…bloody  _something_. She'd decided that tonight she would try to find out more about Professor Nathair, as casually as possible - even something as simple as his first name. That was an innocent enough question, right? The opportunity arose when she glanced at the name on the essay she was grading.

"Cosimia Casanova? That's an unusual name," she commented offhandedly.

He raised an eyebrow, and continued making notes in red ink on the paper he was working on. "So is Hermione."

"Touché," she replied, then asked, "What's your first name, anyway, sir? If you don't mind me asking."

His quill froze for a second before he continued to write again. "My first name isn't important, because, as you're only a student, you shouldn't be addressing me by my first name, anyway," he answered curtly.

She felt miffed. "I was just trying to make conversation. It's not as if I'd be calling you by your first name; that's disrespectful. I know Headmaster Fontaine's first name is Agilbert, but I don't go around calling  _him_  that."

"I suppose you're right."

"So, does that mean you'll tell me?" she asked hopefully.

"No."

Hermione's shoulders slumped and she pouted. She let out a sigh, and continued grading her stack of papers in silence. Her mind was going through other things she could possibly ask him, but was coming up with nothing. It went on this way for about twenty minutes before his voice cut through the silence.

"So, you and Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.

Hermione's eyes traveled up from the paper she was grading to look at him in confusion. He wasn't even looking at her when he'd asked his question. "Excuse me, sir?"

She saw the cold smile that ghosted his lips. "I've overheard the gossip in the halls; students love to talk. I'd assumed there was something going on between you two, but I suppose it's official now."

Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably, and frowned. "Yes, I suppose it is."

His face was still focused on the parchment on the table below him, but his eyes were focused on her now. It made him look menacing. "I didn't peg you as that kind of person, Ms. Granger."

"As what kind of person, exactly?" she retorted. She didn't like where this conversation was headed, and felt her patience wearing thin. He was the only person who'd ever made her feel this way and she hated it.

The corners of his mouth curled up roguishly at her irritation. "A  _sheep_."

" _Excuse me?_ What is  _that_  supposed to mean?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean, Ms. Granger. You value autonomy above everything else, don't you?"

"Are you trying to imply that I've lost my autonomy by being in a relationship with Draco?" she asked impatiently.

And at that, a cold, knowing smile spread across his face. "What I'm saying is: you'll get bored with him soon enough, Ms. Granger; just you wait and see. He can't give you what you want."

"You have no idea what I want!" she snapped.

"And neither do you," he replied darkly, and without hesitation.

Hermione's mouth fell open in indignation and she quickly snapped it closed again. The devilish look on his face made her want to do many things; it made her want to slap him and to pull at his hair and to kiss him and to do things she'd never done before with another person and those facts  _terrified_  her. She needed to leave – to escape him.

She stood up from her seat and said evenly, "Maybe I don't,  _sir_ , but I suppose that I'll have to find that out for myself. Here," she said, and dropped the graded papers in the middle of the table. "I'd just finished, anyway. Have a good evening, Professor. I'm off to go find my  _boring_  boyfriend."

The smile had fallen from his face before she'd ever left the room.

She felt victorious, and decided to go find Draco to prove her point.

Hermione was under the impression that it was to prove her point to  _him_.

How wrong she was.

* * *

Hermione wouldn't get bored with him. How ridiculous. How preposterous. She would show him; she would prove him  _wrong_.

His fingers tugged wildly at her Oxford that was tucked into her skirt and his thumbs slid over her hips. She imagined them being a bit cooler. She sighed, and shivered.

_This wasn't like her._

She couldn't see his hair or face well; it was too dark. And for that, she was glad, because it allowed her to fantasize. Her fingers pulled at his hair at the nape of his neck to bring him down closer to her as their kiss deepened like she wanted it to. He groaned into her mouth and he pushed himself against her and he ran his hands up underneath her shirt to touch her, to take her, to –

_This wasn't like her._

She broke their kiss long enough to find his belt buckle, and started unfastening it. She stared at his chest.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" his voice shook when he asked. It wasn't  _his_  voice, though; she knew, because he wouldn't ask her a question like that. She knew he wouldn't; he would just  _do_ it. She silenced him with a kiss as she unbuckled his belt, and went for the button and zipper next.

"Touch me," she breathed the command to him.

And he did. He pulled down the cups of her bra and he touched her. She moaned into his mouth as he kneaded her and he flicked the pads of his thumbs over her nipples and he pressed himself into her and she shoved her hand into the front of his trousers to  _touch_  him. She kept her eyes closed when he took a sharp intake of breath. She envisioned his face. She wanted to pretend.

_This wasn't like her._

She let the back of her head fall against the wood behind her with a thud when he moved his hands down, down, down to a place he'd never touched before. Up and underneath her skirt he went and he rubbed his fingers against her cotton knickers. He rubbed and he rubbed and he rubbed – faster, and faster, and faster. She couldn't stop the moan that escaped her. And she held him firmly in her hand, pushing and pulling until he was leaking and his knees shook. It made her feel powerful. She liked to imagine.

 _This wasn't like her_.

Something familiar was building inside of her and she knew what it was. It was something that no other person had given her before. She wanted it. It got closer with each bit of friction that was offered between his fingers rubbing against her clit and the thumb of his other hand rolling over her breast. She wanted to moan. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. It felt good and she felt shame.

She hated herself.

And then, she felt cold. Hermione stared in shock to see Draco sprawled on his back in the middle of the room, lying in the center of the Gordian Knot where the sorting ceremony was held for new students. Streams of moonlight was filtering through the glass cupola, so Hermione could see Professor Nathair's twisted face fixated on Draco, his wand drawn on him. The wooden statue of the Horned Serpent against her back suddenly felt freezing. His dark eyes flicked to her and she inhaled sharply.

They'd been caught, and by the one person she never wanted to be caught by.

"Fix your clothes, Ms. Granger. You look utterly disgraceful," he spat and his wand was still trained on Draco. Hermione openly glared at their professor. Draco hadn't moved, but she could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed nervously. Hermione knew that if his parents found out, they would be furious with him. They'd probably send him away to Durmstrang. She was no stranger as to how they felt about Muggleborns.

"I said to  _fix yourself_ , Ms. Granger," he repeated severely when she didn't follow his command the first time.

Hermione's glare intensified and she didn't break her defiant eye contact with him once, even as she reached her hands into the top of her shirt to put her breasts back into her bra, even when she tucked her shirt back into her skirt, and even when she straightened out her stockings. "Better?" she asked cheekily.

Professor Nathair's cold eyes traveled over her body purposefully and it made her shiver. His eyes settled back on Draco and he said, "Quite; but it would've been better if it never happened to begin with."

She clenched her jaw, and wanted to tell him it wasn't any of his business what they did. Instead, she walked over to Draco, and helped him up before she said, "We apologize, sir. It'll never happen again. If you'll excuse us, we'll be going back to our dormitory now."

Professor Nathair clicked his tongue quickly, lowered his wand, and slowly shook his head. "I haven't dismissed either of you yet, Ms. Granger," his eyes flicked to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, two weeks of detention. Go back to your dormitory."

"But…" Draco started, and his eyes shifted to Hermione's.

"Do I need to make it longer, Mr. Malfoy?" Professor Nathair asked dangerously.

Draco glared hard at the floor and his jaw clenched. "No, sir."

Professor Nathair smiled coldly. "Perfect," he said, then his smile fell. "Now, get out of my sight."

"What about Hermione?"

"One month of detention now," he said sharply. "Ms. Granger is none of your concern at the moment.  _Leave now,_  or else I'll be forced to notify your parents of your behavior."

Draco's eyes widened. He cast an apologetic glance at Hermione before he walked out of the room. She couldn't blame him for leaving, as much as she wanted to. It wasn't his fault this had happened – it was entirely hers. Professor Nathair watched him go, then whirled on her.

"Just because you're the Student President doesn't mean you're immune to the consequences of your actions."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. "Are you giving me detention, too, Professor?"

He looked thoughtful as he tilted his head to the side, and pursed his lips. "Detention? No," he said slowly. "No, I think not. I can think of something  _far_ more useful for you to do for me."

Hermione's belly did a little flop at what he could possibly mean, and unconsciously shifted her thighs closer together to ease the discomfort that had built up there from earlier. She frowned at her reaction toward him and dear  _Lord_  did she ever hate herself even more right now. She licked her swollen lips and she didn't fail to notice how his eyes lowered to watch. "And what would that be, sir?"

His eyes dragged back to up to hers. "There's something that I…desperately need from the valley."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed together. "Okay, so…go and get it."

He forced a tight smile and said sarcastically, "If it were that easy, I would have done so already, Ms. Granger."

"Then why would you need  _my_  help? You know that students aren't allowed to go into the valley."

Professor Nathair considered her for a moment. "They can if they're accompanied by a member of staff. I need a flower that only blooms during a full moon," he told her carefully.

Hermione's frown deepened and her brain started buzzing. Her eyes widened in fear. "On a full moon? What about the werewolves?" she hissed. "There are rumors of a werewolf pack living in the valley in that abandoned village! You can't honestly need the flower  _that_  badly."

He crowded over her suddenly, his teeth bared. "Don't tell me what I do and do not  _need_ , Ms. Granger," he bit out harshly, then he took a step back to calm himself with a steadying breath. He raised his eyebrows and continued, "You don't need to help me, of course. But if you did, I wouldn't have to report your… _misconduct_  to Headmaster Fontaine."

She glared at him. "You're blackmailing me."

He smirked. "No, my dear. Just being resourceful, and an opportunist."

"You're just sugar-coating the truth. This is blackmail, whether you like to admit it or not."

He just smiled down at her. "Maybe. Well, then, Ms. Granger. What will your choice be?"

Hermione had to think about it; she  _really_  had to think about it. The stubborn side of her, the side of her that didn't want to be controlled, kept telling herself that she wanted to tell him right where he could shove his flower that he needed so desperately. She could deal with the embarrassment of being reprimanded by Headmaster Fontaine for inappropriate conduct from his Student President; it's not as if he was entirely strict. He was a married man, so she was sure he understood how teenagers were with their hormones at this age, and all that.

There was also that rational side of her that told her that this was entirely  _dangerous_. There hasn't been any proof of the werewolf pack being in the valley in years, but that didn't mean that they weren't  _there_. They knew that Ilvermorny was off-limits if they didn't want to suffer the severe repercussions at the hands of MACUSA.

And then…there was the part of her, that darker part of her that she always kept locked away; that darker part of her that made her heart race whenever she was near him that made her  _curious_.

First, it was Slytherin's wand; then, it was the Comfrey plant; and now, it was some sort of rare flower. What was he up to?

Hermione hated being curious sometimes.

"Fine," she sighed.

Professor Nathair showed her his pretty teeth with a cold smile. "Perfect. By the way, Ms. Granger - my name? It's Tom."

* * *

What should have been her walk of shame back to her dormitory had become her walk of speculation and guesswork. She had a name now. It was a simple name, but it was something to go on. She was so excited that she now knew his first name that she had temporarily forgotten that he’d found her and Draco wrist-deep in each other’s – well, yes…she’d nearly forgotten that he’d found them.

All she could think about as she made her way through the dimly lit Horned Serpent common room was getting her hands on her books to continue searching through Isolt Sayre’s family tree. She almost didn’t hear her name being called.

“Hermione,” she heard someone whisper.

She froze, and looked around for the source of the voice. It was after curfew, so the common area was empty. That’s when she saw Draco sitting underneath the large window that overlooked the Silver Lake and waterfall. The anxious look on his face reminded her of what had taken place only fifteen minutes ago. He motioned for her to come over, so she did. He gently took her hand in his, and pulled her onto his lap.

“I’m sorry that I left you there, Hermione. I’m an utter prat. Please, forgive me,” he murmured into her upper arm.

Hermione swallowed, and wasn’t quite sure what she should say. It was her fault to begin with –  _ Tom _ had riled her up so badly that she felt the need to go find Draco immediately. How spectacularly it had all backfired on her – on them. She deserved it; Draco, however, did not.

She shifted in his lap, and ran her fingers through his hair comfortingly. “I’m not upset with you, Draco. You didn’t have a choice. I understand.”

He lifted his face up to hers, the distress still evident there. “It’s not an excuse, Hermione.”

She smiled reassuringly at him. “No, it’s not, but it’s the truth. We made a mistake, we were caught by a teacher, and we must suffer the consequences of our actions,” she said, then dropped her hands from his hair, and into her lap. “In all honesty, it could have been  _ much _ worse than detention. We’re lucky we didn’t get expelled.”

“So, he gave you detention, too?” he asked.

“Of course,” she lied without thinking. She hated lying to him, but the truth was much worse. Draco would most definitely lose his cool, and tell Headmaster Fontaine that Professor Nathair wanted to drag his girlfriend into the valley on some senseless mission; which would bring their hormonal excursion to light. Draco wouldn’t realize that if he did that, it would be the equivalent of willingly throwing themselves to the wolves. Not only was there the possibility of her losing her title as Student President, but Draco’s parents would  _ definitely _ be notified.

While she was confused about how she felt about Draco in a romantic sense, he  _ was _ one of her best friends, and she  _ knew _ that she loved him in that way; she would do anything she could to protect him. He’d told her enough about his father. She knew what he would do to him and she would do whatever she could to guard him from a fate such as that.

“How long? Hopefully not an entire month, like me.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around him, and nestled her face against the warmth of his neck. His arms surrounded her. “No, not an entire month, like you. Much shorter, but it will still be unbearable. We’ll survive, though. Right?”

He chuckled into her curls, and ran a hand soothingly down her back. “Right. We’ll survive it - together.”

She lost control of her quivering bottom lip for only a moment. She held onto him tighter. “Right. Together,” she breathed.

_ Together…? _

Hermione stared out the window over his shoulder. The moonlight was reflecting off the lake; and, aside from the waterfall, everything else was still. She’d been so sure of everything in her life up until this school year. She knew what she wanted to do. She knew who she wanted to be. She wanted to get an entry level position working at MACUSA, or maybe at the British Ministry of Magic back home, and work her way up to a higher-level position by the time she was thirty.

But now?

Now, she wasn’t so sure what was happening in her life anymore. She felt as if she was slowly losing control of everything in her life, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her eyes focused on the surface of the lake and her gaze started at the base of the waterfall, where the water churning was pure chaos. Ripples were being pushed out further and further until the surface looked as calm as glass.

That’s when she had a realization. She was like the lake; no matter how much the waterfall threw down to disrupt it, no matter how many ripples it produced, the lake always ended up the same, in the end – calm as glass.

 


	5. Book I: Madness

**Book I: Madness**

* * *

It was the night of the full moon and Hermione was already regretting agreeing to help him with finding his stupid, bloody flower. She knew he was a competent wizard; so, why in the world did he need her to go with him? She was only a student. What kind of help could she possibly offer him? She'd even asked him, but he hadn't given her straight answer. Why was he so  _good_  at avoiding the truth?

"Why can't we just apparate there?" she asked as they trudged down the dirt road leading away from Ilvermorny, and into the valley. Hermione was thankful she decided to wear her Muggle clothing. There was no way she'd be able to walk through the woods wearing her school uniform. A light jumper, jeans, and trainers were the perfect solution. Her professor had obviously thought along the same lines. Although, it  _was_  rather odd to see him wearing jeans.

"How long have you been a student here again?" he asked inquiringly.

Hermione was thankful for the nightfall, because her face felt like it was on fire. She did  _not_  like what his tone was suggesting. "Five years."

"Five years? You've been a student here for five years and you never knew that they set up anti-apparition wards over the entire mountain?"

She scowled at him. "Well, it's not like we exactly have a reason to venture outside of the grounds to begin with. The only interesting place to go is that old village, but it's off limits."

He glanced at her for a moment before looking away, and into the woods. "Off limits," he muttered underneath his breath to himself, and stopped walking.

"What is it? Are we here?"

"No," he said, and pointed his chin toward the embankment in front of him. "We need to go down there."

Hermione peered down the hill. It was rather steep, and didn't look entirely safe to venture down. The trees littering the hill blocked out the moonlight, and made it difficult to see. "Down  _there_?" she echoed skeptically.

Professor Nathair rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ms. Granger. Down there. Do keep up," he said, and slowly started making his way down the hill. Hermione followed closely behind, alternating the tree trunks she grasped onto as she made her way down, doing her best not to slip on the leaves.

"Couldn't we have…oh, I don't know, flown on  _brooms_ , or something?" she asked.

"I've seen you fly before, Ms. Granger. You're terrible at it. Walking seemed to be the best choice for you."

Hermione made mocking faces at the back of his head.

She immediately stopped making faces at him once his voice cut through the night again. "Besides, we don't have to go that far. We'll be there in a few minutes."

"Thank God," she groaned underneath her breath. Being in the woods at night, and on a full moon, no less, gave her the creeps. She hated to admit it, but Professor Nathair being there with her was a relief. Then again, it was his fault they were in the woods to begin with…

Once they got to the bottom of the hill, Hermione slid in a pile of wet leaves, and fell on her bum. Tom let out a snort, and offered her his hand. Hermione glared up at him, and refused his hand. She picked herself up off the ground on her own. She didn't  _need_ him to help her. He just raised an eyebrow at her, and turned around to continue walking. She brushed the damp leaves off her bum, and followed behind him.

They continued that way for several minutes before they came into a clearing. Hermione's eyes widened at what she saw before her. There, in the clearing, were several old buildings, many of them crumbling or with their roof caved in. It was overgrown with the new foliage that Spring had to offer, and looked an utter mess. It was in complete disrepair. That was when Hermione noticed that many of the doors were either knocked off their hinges, or had claw marks on them.

Her jaw dropped and she shook her head. "No. No, no, no, no,  _no_. Are you mad? You're mad! We're not allowed to be here," she hissed quietly at him.

Tom held up a finger to silence her. "Ah-ah-ah,  _you_  aren't allowed to be here; but, as a member of the staff, I  _am_  allowed to be here. And guess what? Since you are with a member of the staff,  _you_ are allowed to be here. Now, be quiet, and follow me closely."

He drew out his wand, and started making his way through the small village. Hermione followed his example, and stayed within two steps of him the entire time. It was so quiet. The only noise that was heard was the slight swaying of the leaves whenever a light gust of wind blew. She didn't like this – not one bit. She wanted to ask him where his  _stupid_  flowers were, but was too scared that some _thing_  might hear her; so, she remained silent.

She almost ran into him when he came to an abrupt halt.

"We're here," he said.

Hermione peered around him to look at what must have been a community garden at some point. It was completely overgrown now, but the one thing that stood out against all the brush were the  _flowers_. They were smaller than what she'd been expecting, but they were beautiful. They were opened in bloom underneath the light of the full moon, and were a sky-blue color; but that wasn't what drew her attention – it was the fact that they were  _glowing_  in the moonlight. Even the bits of pollen that slowly fell from the stamen was glowing blue.

"The process for collecting these requires my full attention, which is where you come in, Ms. Granger," he stated, and crouched down in front of the flowers. He continued, "You are to keep an eye out, and make sure nothing interrupts me. That's all."

"That's all?" she deadpanned. "You expect me to stop a werewolf from attacking us all by myself?"

Tom scoffed. "There aren't any werewolves in this valley, Ms. Granger. There haven't been in nearly a decade."

Hermione couldn't stop the words that tumbled out of her mouth. "And how would you know that, sir? You were, what? Only ten years old a decade ago?" she asked, then promptly clamped her mouth closed, and stared at him with wide eyes.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and had the most mischievous smile she'd ever seen him wear on his face. "Twelve, actually. Now, stay quiet, and keep a look out."

So, that meant he was only twenty-two? Twenty-three? How did someone so young manage to snag a coveted teaching position at Ilvermorny? She doubted she'd ever understand how it was possible. She knew that he was brilliant, but there had to be more to it than that. Hadn't there?

As Professor Nathair carefully cut the flowers away in the way that was required, Hermione anxiously tapped her wand against her thigh. Her eyes kept scanning the area, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. She could see rather well, too, with the light that the full moon provided.

Several minutes had passed by in silence. Hermione allowed herself to quickly glance over at Tom's hunched over form, and found her eyes traveling in places that they really shouldn't. He was carefully slipping each flower into its own phial. She shifted her weight on her feet uncomfortably, and wished that he was old and decrepit, like the rest of her professors.  _Why_  did he have to be so bloody attractive? It wasn't  _fair_.

_Snap_.

Hermione and Tom's heads snapped toward the forest and they waited for another sound to follow. Hermione held her wand out in front of her, and slowly backed up until she was right next to Tom. "What was that?" she whispered.

He held up his hand to silence her, and waited. Once he seemed to be satisfied that it was nothing, he continued his work. "Probably just a raccoon, or an opossum. They are nocturnal, after all."

"But what if it was something  _else_ , professor?"

"Like what?" he asked in mild amusement as he carefully clipped the stem of another flower. "A Snallygaster?"

"There aren't any Snallygasters in Massachusetts," she scoffed. "The closest established colony is in Lake Champlain in Vermont."

"Right. Well, maybe it's a tribe of Pukwudgies that aren't affiliated with Ilvermorny. Better stay sharp – you won't even notice their poisonous arrows until they're sticking out of your body, and infecting your bloodstream," he joked with dark humor.

"Don't say things like that," she snapped back. She needed to control her temper around him; even though he was only a few years older than her, he was still her  _professor_. She needed to be respectful, but he made it  _so damn hard._

"Why not? It's the truth. Besides," he leaned forward on his knees in the dirt, and looked up at her with a penetrating stare. It felt strangely intimate, and made her belly flutter. "I'm fairly certain you could find a way to wrap them around your little finger like you do with the Pukwudgies at Ilvermorny."

Her jaw went slack and she stared down at him before her. "I do  _not_  have them wrapped around my little finger," she breathed.

The corner of his mouth slowly lifted. "Oh? Name one other person, student or staff, who is allowed to go into their tower without a fuss?"

Hermione's eyelids fluttered and she licked her lips. She shook her head. "I can't."

Tom leaned back on the balls of his feet, and smiled at her. "Exactly," he turned his attention back to the flowers. "I'm almost done here. Keep watch."

Hermione shook her head, and turned back around. "Right."

Another light breeze wafted through the clearing, and caused a door that was hanging on its hinges on the cabin to their left to creak loudly. Hermione jumped again, and silently berated herself for it. She  _knew_  it was just the wind, but she couldn't stop being so bloody  _nervous_. She really just wanted to leave.

Unfortunately, she jumped even higher when she heard something metallic hit the floor inside the cabin. Hermione leveled her wand at the front door, and tried to ignore the feeling of her heart pound, pound, pounding frantically in her chest. Even Tom seemed at attention, because he was standing next to her, and had his wand pointed at the door, as well.

And then, a fat raccoon wobbled its way out of the front door, and scampered into the woods.

Professor Nathair lowered his wand, and sighed. He crouched back down to the flowers and asked, "Are you  _always_  this jumpy?"

"No," she snapped. "Besides, you got up, too. So, don't act as if it didn't startle you."

"It didn't."

"Whatever," she muttered underneath her breath, and glanced back in the direction the raccoon had ran off to. She wished that she could run off back to Ilvermorny, too. She wished that she could just lie in the safety and warmth of her own bed.

Hermione rolled her shoulders, and stretched her neck side to side. Soon –  _very_  soon – he would be done and she'd never have to do anything this stupid ever again. Her eyes scanned their surroundings once more, when something caught her attention in the cabin the raccoon had run out of. She narrowed her eyes, and leaned forward to try and focus on it. What was that? It looked like the moonlight was reflecting off whatever metallic thing had fallen to the floor.

Only…it wasn't on the floor.

And was it…moving? Was it another raccoon?

Hermione brought her wand back up just in time to send a nonverbal stunner at the black mass that had launched itself at her. She fell back hard onto the ground and the action knocked the air out of her lungs. She watched in slow motion as a bloody  _werewolf_  soared over her body, and bits of its slobber dribbled on her cheeks before it slammed into the side of a well, and fell in with a loud splash.

Hermione quickly rolled onto her belly, wiped the werewolf saliva off her face, and stared in shock as the well crumbled in on itself. There were stones that were still falling into the well with a splash and she could hear growls and the sound of scratching claws reverberating off the walls. Terror clutched her heart unforgivingly when she realized that it was  _coming back out_.

Tom grabbed the back of her jumper, and hauled her to her feet roughly. His face was entirely serious when he said, "We need to leave.  _Now_."

Well, he didn't need to tell her twice. And so, they ran. They ran and they ran and they ran. They didn't stop, not even when the bone-chilling  _howls_  erupted from behind them.

"It's calling for help! There's more than one!" Hermione managed to yell out to him as they started scrambling up the side of a steep slope ridden with Maple trees. The leaves left over from the previous Autumn that had been left behind underneath the snow didn't help them in their ascent. They kept slipping in them.

She couldn't see his face, but she could tell his teeth were clenched together when he said, "Just…keep… _running._  We're not inside the wards yet."

Right when they got to the top of the slope, and onto the dirt road that lead up to Ilvermorny, the heavy sound of paws hitting the ground sounded from the bottom of the hill they'd just climbed. Hermione looked up the dirt road to see the twinkling torches at Ilvermorny in the far distance, and back at the bottom of the hill in a panic.

Hermione looked at Professor Nathair. "We're never going to make it! We need to  _do_  something! It's too far!"

He seemed to have come up with the same realization, because he'd stopped running and took on a defensive stance, his wand drawn. "I  _know_. I'm trying to think! It's a whole bloody  _pack_  of werewolves – not just one!"

She tapped her wand against her thigh in impatience. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but  _thinking_  isn't going to solve our dilemma right now!"

"Shut  _up_!" he snapped.

Hermione heard the sound of growls and the sound of crunching leaves and the sound of their panting getting louder and closer and – wait.  _The leaves_.

"What in the bloody  _Hell_  are you doing, Hermione?" he yelled when he saw her run closer to the side of the embankment with her wand drawn.

" _Doing_ ," she snapped, and started waving her wand in a circular motion. "Get ready to run!  _Ventus Tria_!"

Hermione gathered all her magic together as she continued swirling her wand in a circular motion above her head. A large gust of wind started picking up the leaves on the hill into a tornado at least three times as large as the one she sent at Harry and Draco. The spell was so strong that it threatened to lift the trees out of the earth. Yelps were heard and she could see that several of the werewolves were picked up in the swirling tornado.

Suddenly, her tornado strengthened considerably. Her curls were whipping violently around her and it made it difficult to see. It had grown even larger and the wind was even more turbulent and wild than before. Hermione's head snapped to her right to see Tom copying her movements with his wand, his face determined.

"Focus! Unless you want to die!" he yelled to her over the squall.

She shook her head, and turned her attention back to the task at hand. Most of the werewolves, about ten of them, were now trapped in their magical tornado. The rest had slowed down to try and avoid it. It was then that Hermione noticed one of them, the same one that had tried to attack her, was heading straight for her without slowing down. Professor Nathair seemed to have noticed, and took control of the tornado's movements. He quickly shifted it to the left, but the werewolf leapt out of range. He shifted it to the right, but it outmaneuvered it again.

"It's too fast!" she shouted over the noise in a panic.

And it really was. Hermione's heart felt like it had stopped. She watched on in slow motion as the werewolf made one final leap into the air toward her. Its claws were outstretched; its fangs were bared; its eyes were gleaming red in the moonlight.

This was it. This was how she was going to die. Hermione Jean Granger was going to be mauled to death by a werewolf. She was going to be mauled to death by a werewolf, because her selfish, manipulative arsehole of a professor wanted a fucking  _flower_. She wasn't the type of person to wish death on another human being, but she hoped that the werewolf got  _him_  next.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A stream of green light hit the werewolf square in the chest right as she felt its last puff of warm, putrid breath fan across her face. Its body was flung backwards from the spell, and it tumbled back down to the bottom of the hill.

Piercing, agony filled yowls impregnated the night air.

It was in that moment when Hermione realized four things: the first, was that she was alive; the second, was that  _that_  particular werewolf had been the pack leader; the third, was that her professor had just used an Unforgivable curse to save her; the fourth, was that he was currently holding her hand.

Hermione stared at their linked hands, then slowly looked up at his face in astonishment. He looked disheveled and  _mad_. "Fucking  _run."_

She gave one last, determined twirl of her wand to push the tornado back down the hill, and as far away from them as possible. Then, she let him haul her by her hand, and ran up the dirt path until it felt as if her lungs were on fire.

They were almost there – almost to the wards. She could feel them – she could hear their comforting hum. What she could also hear, however, were the crunching paws on the dirt and gravel behind them. They'd escaped the tornado, and were coming after them to avenge the death of their pack leader.

They were close –  _so_  close to the wards. Not more than five yards away, but she could hear jaws snapping at her heels now. Professor Nathair still had her hand in a death grip, but she was still behind him. They would get her first, they would –

His grip on her hand tightened even more and he suddenly flung her forward, and into the safety of the wards. She skidded to the ground, and cried out in pain when she stopped herself with her palms, knees, and chin. Professor Nathair landed on his back next to her, breathing heavily, and stared up into the night sky with a crazed smile on his face.

Her eyes widened in fear and she jumped to her feet in an instant to see the sight of around fifteen werewolves snapping their jaws, pawing the ground, and letting loose blood-curdling growls on the other side of the protective wards.

"We made it," she whispered in awe.

Professor Nathair put his hands over his face, and started laughing from his spot on the ground – actually  _laughing_.

Hermione put her hands on her hips, and frowned. "What's so funny? We nearly  _died_! Are you mad!?"

He continued chuckling as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, and grinned up at her in a way that made her squirm uncomfortably in the best sort of way.

"Mad?" he asked, and let his eyes rove over her. He pushed himself up to stand, and brushed the dirt from his jeans.

"Perhaps. Perhaps I am mad. But what was it that Aristotle said?" he asked as he pulled out one of the phials from his pocket. The faint, blue glow of the flower illuminated his features in the dark. It left Hermione breathless. His eyes snapped back to hers and he said, "There is no great genius without some touch of madness."

She scoffed in disbelief. "Are you seriously quoting ancient Muggle philosophers right now? We are currently standing ten feet away from a pack of  _very_ angry werewolves."

His eyebrows raised at her words and he pocketed the phial away again. "Right. I almost forgot."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you – how did you forget about them? They're sitting right there! You  _killed_  one of them!" she spluttered.

He just shrugged one shoulder, and started making his way toward the castle.

Was he serious? He just committed a crime! Granted, it was in self-defense, but it needed to be reported!

She ran to catch up with him. "We need to notify Headmaster Fontaine."

" _We_ ," he used his hand to motion to them both, "don't need to notify anybody."

"A man is  _dead_  because of you," she whispered harshly, terrified that someone would overhear her words.

He whirled on her then and his face twisted into something ugly. He crowded over her, but she refused to cower before him. "A  _werewolf_  is dead because of me and  _you_  are not," he scoffed, and looked her up and down in obvious annoyance. "If anything, you should be  _thanking_  me right now for saving your life."

Hermione snapped her mouth shut, and glared up at him. "Well, I am  _not_  thanking you, sir."

Professor Nathair's spine straightened at her words and his mouth curled up at the corners. "I never expected you to, Ms. Granger," he crooned, then tilted his head to the side as he observed her curiously. "You were in Gryffindor, weren't you?"

"Maybe," she bristled. "What does it matter?"

He brought his hand up to her face to rub the bits of gravel still stuck to her chin with his thumb and it made her wince in pain. She was sure that there was a scrape there – and probably blood. He wet his lips as he stared at her, then dropped his hand to his side. Part of her wished he hadn't.

"Oh, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all, Ms. Granger," he said with a knowing smile that she wasn't in on.

Honestly, she wasn't sure if she  _wanted_  to be in on it.

"Let's go, Ms. Granger. Unless, of course, you'd rather stay here."

Hermione looked back at the pack of pacing werewolves on the other side of the shimmering wards once more, then turned back to Tom. She stuck her nose up in the air and said, "No, thank you." as she passed him.

He just grinned after her. "I thought not."

* * *

It had been two entire days since the werewolf incident and Hermione was fairly certain that Professor Nathair hadn't breathed a word to Headmaster Fontaine about it. She was sure, because the headmaster hadn't said a word to her during their weekly Student Association meeting the day before.

She was thoroughly annoyed, and wasn't sure what she should do about it. Telling the truth would be the obvious choice, but…she was almost positive she'd lose everything she'd worked so hard to achieve this year.

Who would want to hire a young woman straight out of school who could be labeled as some sort of sexual deviant and was probably, technically, an accomplice to murder – even if it  _was_  in self-defense. It didn't matter, though, because they should have  _never_  been down in the valley to begin with.

Seventh year was supposed to be  _her_  year, but it was turning out to be entirely  _his_ , instead.

She found herself beginning to hate him. She didn't care how good he looked in his outfit today; he was still an arsehole.

An arsehole who looked good in his black slacks and navy blue Oxford.

_God, damn it_.

Hermione squirmed in her seat while she listened to him go on about something she'd accidentally tuned out. She noticed that Draco was scribbling down notes in the spot next to her and she stared back down at her parchment. If her calculations were correct, she'd stopped taking notes as soon as he stepped out of his office. How perfect.

Her ears perked up when she heard him say something about werewolves. Did he seriously pick this for his curriculum today on purpose, or had he already had it planned in advance? If she were to guess, she would assume that he'd planned it ahead of time, but she wasn't about the rule that out.

"The British Ministry of Magic tried to establish the Werewolf Code of Conduct in around 1637, but it was an utter failure. What werewolf, in their right mind, would walk into the Ministry and sign it? It would be publicly admitting to the world of what they were. MACUSA tried to adopt a similar code, but not until nearly a hundred years later. That, too, was a failure. Now, I know this is probably something that you have already gone over in History of Magic at some point, but it's important to know in order to  _understand_  why werewolves behave the way they do."

Oh, yes. He'd chosen this lesson specifically for her. What…an…arse. Her hand shot up in the air.

"Yes, Ms. Granger?"

"Sorry, Professor, but what do you mean by 'behaving the way they do'?" she asked innocently.

"I mean unpredictably, of course. Werewolves are dangerous, even in their human forms. They're powerful and we have no way to control them. They would kill you in a heartbeat, and not even think twice about it," he replied professionally.

"So, you're saying that they should be controlled," she challenged.

His jaw twitched. "I'm saying that they're dangerous, Ms. Granger, and that they should be closely monitored."

"How?"

"How what?"

"How should they be closely monitored, sir? Should we tag them, like wild animals? Should we implant some sort of computer chip, and fuse it onto their bones? Oh, I know, maybe we should eradicate their numbers; that seems  _far_  more efficient-"

" _Hermione_ ," Draco whispered uncomfortably next to her.

Hermione ignored Draco, and shot a glare at Tom. She stood up, and started shoving her things into her satchel angrily. Everyone stared at her in shock.

"Class is dismissed early today," Professor Nathair said as he glowered at her. The wide-eyed students quickly gathered their things to escape the discomfort of the sudden turn of events.

"Ms. Granger, stay behind, please," she heard him say over the commotion of the students preparing to leave the classroom. She pretended to not hear him, and was the first one to storm out of the classroom.

"Ms. Granger!" Professor Nathair called.

"Hermione!" Draco called.

Hermione slammed the door shut behind her using her magic, and stomped her way to the Pukwudgie tower to be by herself. She was sick and tired of dealing with people this week. Granted, Draco had done nothing wrong, but the guilt she felt when it came to him was stressing her out. Hermione wasn't one to skip classes, but it was an afternoon where solitude wasn't an indulgence – it was a requirement.

She didn't see any of the little creatures milling about in their common area when she passed through to climb the stairs, which she was thankful for. It was nearly lunch-time, so many of them were probably in the kitchens. They never gave her a difficult time, but she knew that if William saw her now in the state she was in, he would stop her and ask what was wrong. She didn't want to think about what William would do if he found out. He was a grumpy little thing, but she knew he was fiercely protective of her, as well. Pukwudgies were  _dangerous_  if you got on their bad side – even against a witch or wizard.

Hermione continued trudging up the stairs until she got to her spot, and threw her satchel in the corner of her sitting area.

"I asked you to stay behind, Ms. Granger."

She jolted at the voice coming from behind her, and whirled around to see a furious Professor Nathair standing on the stairs.

Okay, maybe she wasn't thankful that the Pukwudgies weren't in their common area right now. They would have stopped him from entering the tower in a heartbeat.

"Have you seriously followed me here just to have this conversation? I thought I made it  _perfectly_  clear that I wasn't interested in continuing it," Hermione fumed.

Tom's jaw clenched tightly, and she swore she saw a vein protruding from his neck – as if he was trying to restrain himself from doing something he might regret. His eyes darted wildly across her face. His nostrils flared as he steadied his breath before he angrily spoke through gritted teeth, "You're absolutely maddening, Hermione; did you know that? Why  _you_? Why does it have to be  _you?_ "

Hermione's mind went blank as she faltered, "E-excuse me?"

Her eyes went wide with shock as she watched him run his hands through his hair like a madman, pulling at clumps of strands in agitation as he did so. "You!" he yelled in frustration as he took a step closer. His face contorted into something ugly. "You're  _everywhere_. No matter what I do, where I go –  _you're always there_."

"Well, I can't really help that, now, can I? I go to school here! I'm sorry that my presence is such a  _burden_  to you!" Hermione scowled at him, deeply offended. Why did he seem to dislike her so much?

His cold laugh was unexpected. "For someone so intelligent, you sure are  _stupid_. You don't get it, do you? I can't  _escap_ e you – I've  _tried_. When I eat – you're there. When I teach – you're there. When I think – you're there. When I close my eyes –  _you're there."_

Hermione's mouth hung open in disbelief once the weight of his words sunk in.

He wanted her.

Dear Merlin, he  _wanted_  her.

_No_. Hermione closed her eyes, unable to process what in the  _Hell_ was going on. She felt an equal amount of exhilaration and dread roiling in her belly. She knew it was wrong, but was unable to stop herself from craving the chaos.

Is this how a marionette would have felt like if it were a sentient being? Hanging from strings, being controlled – being forced to do things from the unseen hand of the puppet master that it didn't really want to do?

With her eyes still closed, Hermione willed Professor Nathair to go away. When she opened her eyes, he would be gone.  _He would be gone_.

But, when she opened her eyes, he  _wasn't_ gone. No. Instead, when she opened her eyes, all she saw was the front of his navy-blue oxford shirt in her line of vision. She sucked in a breath when she discovered how close he had become. Her eyes slowly traveled up his chest, up his neck, until she was craning to look up at his face.

No matter how well the strings controlled her body, they would  _never_ control her mouth. "Well, maybe if you'd stop  _following_  me around like a bloody  _stalker_  – "

Her sentence was smothered when Tom's lips crashed against hers. He pushed her up against the side of the window's alcove as he continued his assault against her mouth. She latched onto the front of his shirt to steady herself from the surprise. He must have taken this as a sign of her being enthusiastic, because his hands traveled greedily over her waist to grasp her hips to his. She could feel the coolness of his fingers through her shirt and she shivered at the contact.

Once she had her bearings, she frantically pushed against his chest to get him away. He pulled away to look at her. The pure look of desire on his face sent her insides quivering, and made her forget why she was pushing him away to begin with. It was  _her_. She was doing this to him without even meaning to.

"This is  _wrong_ ," she breathed out, and shook her head in disbelief.

Professor Nathair licked his lips, and stared at her through hooded eyes. He unexpectedly spun her around so that her back was up against his chest, and held her there tightly.

"No. This –  _this_  is not wrong. That -" he motioned to the students walking to and from class out of the stained-glass window with his hand, " _that_  is wrong. Look at them, Hermione. They're like  _sheep_  - waiting for someone to please, waiting to be told what to do. Never questioning the way things are."

She felt him move her hair off her shoulder, and he brought his head down to gently nudge her neck to the side. She closed her eyes, and could do nothing but obey his silent request as he continued speaking to her in between the kisses he trailed down her neck. "But not you. Not me. Not  _us_ ," he hissed quietly as one of his hands slid underneath her shirt.

Her head lolled back against his chest when his cool fingers brushed against her lace-covered breast, and over her nipples. She felt his other hand slide across her belly, stalling for only a moment before he slid it with conviction underneath the front waistband of her cranberry-colored skirt.

"You and I – we're the shepherds," his voice hitched when he found what he was looking for. Hermione let out a low moan when his fingers purposefully slid against her clit. It was a slow torture. It was agonizingly pleasant. It was wrong. Wrong, wrong,  _wrong_. He slid his fingers back up against her, then down again. She moaned. Then why did she never want him to stop?

Hermione had become the sentient marionette; Tom was the puppet master and she'd lost  _all_  control of the strings.

"Tell me to  _stop_ , Hermione," he breathed against her cheek. Hermione moaned in response.

" _Tell me,_ " he repeated firmly, sounding aggravated.

"I  _can't_ ," she pleaded desperately, and grasped his forearms.

"Wrong answer."

She closed her eyes as he continued caressing lazy circles around her clit, and whispered things to her. She'd stopped comprehending his words. The colors from the stained-glass window were seeping through her eyelids, showing her the loveliest visions of watercolors. They were bleeding together, creating new shades.

Just like she had never thought that what was happening could be possible. Tom was leading her down to the water – leading her in over her head. Oh, and was she ever over her head right now. She was  _drowning._

"I have imagined doing this to you ever since you threw those fucking  _papers_  all over my desk last year. But when I saw you – saw you with –" he murmured bitterly into her shoulder, then bit her there as if to punish her for it. She cried out, but the very fact that he was jealous made her cry turn into a moan. Then, he plunged two fingers into her. Her cry was muffled when his other hand came up to clamp over her mouth.

"Shut up,  _darling_ ," he mumbled quietly against her ear, "Not  _here_."

Hermione couldn't help but struggle against him as he quickened his pace. She brought her hands up to hold the back of his neck. Her warring mind couldn't decide if it was to get closer to him, or to stop herself from falling. It was probably a bit of both. He thrust his hardness against her backside, and groaned when she dug her fingernails into his scalp.

The marionette strings were drawn taut – she was all but forced to play.

When she opened her eyes again, her heart constricted with an overwhelming surge of guilt. She could see students walking to and from class, but there was one in particular that had caught her attention. It didn't matter what colors were painted onto the glass – she knew that pale head of hair from anywhere.  _Draco_.

A sob escaped her, but it was muffled by Tom's hand that was still fastened over her mouth. The heel of his other palm pressed once, twice, three times against her – then, her walls came tumbling down.

Tears sprang to her eyes when she cried out desperately into his palm. The soft, electrifying pulse that clenched around his fingers slowly ebbed away. Reality crashed down hard once the high wore off. His hand slid back out of her skirt. That is when she cut the strings.

She tore away from him, horrified. Horrified with herself, and horrified at the state he was in. His eyes were glazed over. His breathing came out in short pants. His fingers were wet with her.  _His trousers_ …her face burned as she averted her gaze away from the bulge between his legs.

Hermione tucked her shirt back into her skirt quickly, and snatched her satchel up from the floor. She glared at him. "Don't you  _ever_  touch me like that again," she spat out.

He sneered at her, and shook his head slowly. "You can't keep running away from me, Hermione."

"Watch me," she retorted angrily, then made to walk past him to the stairwell.

His fingers wrapped around her upper arm to stop her from leaving. "I  _know_  you want this, too. This isn't over."

Hermione looked at his hand in disgust, then to his face. She ripped her arm out of his grasp and said, "It  _is_. Try something like this again and I am reporting you to Headmaster Fontaine about what you did."

"Tell him about what, exactly? What happened the other night, or about what happened right now?"

"Both!"

Professor Nathair smirked darkly at her. "Do you really think that is a wise decision?"

Her lips curled over her teeth when her scowl deepened. "And why wouldn't it be?"

He leaned down closer to her and said quietly, "First, if you tell him about the other night, I'd be forced to tell him about how I caught you and your boyfriend nearly  _fucking_  each other in the hallway after curfew. Second, I  _told_  you to tell me 'no'. You didn't, now, did you? And even worse, it was so soon after getting caught in a similar predicament with another boy," He raised his eyebrows and his smirk turned into a smile that held no joy. He straightened himself back up again. "How would it look if people found out the  _perfect_  little Student President was finger-fucked by her professor? And even worse – that she  _enjoyed_  it."

"You wouldn't  _dare_. You'd just be throwing yourself under the bus in the process. People might think of me differently, but  _you'd_  get sacked," Hermione said, feeling rather triumphant despite her current situation.

He scoffed at her in amusement. "Do you really think I care about this job?"

The confidence on his face made her uncertain. Hermione  _knew_  it wasn't easy getting a teaching position at Ilvermorny – it was coveted. Why work so hard to get in, if you didn't even care? There must be another reason. "Then why are you here?"

The corners of his mouth curled up like he'd just won something. "I guess you'll just have to find that out for yourself now, won't you?" he said, and brushed past her to make his descent down the stairwell.

Hermione stood glued to the spot once realization settled snugly into her bones.  _The wand._  Her eyes widened and she spun around. Tom was gone.

He wasn't here to teach at all. He was here for Slytherin's wand and she needed to find out  _why_ it was so important. He'd been collecting different potion ingredients, too.  _Why?_  That's when another wave of cold realization spread over her like a harsh wave. He  _knew_  that she would want to find out. He  _knew_. Which, in turn, meant he knew she wasn't going to tell a soul about what happened, in order to find out the truth, and to protect her reputation.

Professor Nathair had restrung the strings with steel when she hadn't been looking.

Once she found out what he was up to, she would find something stronger to sever them.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be longer than I had originally anticipated, so I decided to take my time writing it. I didn't want to rush, so I'm sorry it isn't finished yet. I'm hoping to add another chapter or two before authors are revealed, so keep a look-out. It will be a sort of mini-series that mostly takes place in North America. I don't know how many books there will be yet, but I'm thinking two to three.


	6. Book I: Bargain

Book I: Bargain

* * *

"Hermione! I've been looking everywhere for you. Are you alright?"

Hermione had just walked into the Horned Serpent dormitory when Draco approached her with his question. Her surprised eyes lifted to his curious ones, but dropped almost immediately; her fresh guilt weighed them down. She dropped her satchel to the floor, and plopped down in the spot next to him on the sofa.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," she sighed, nestled into his side, and hid her face from him. She couldn't bear to look at him right now.

Draco started absently playing with her curls with one hand, and picked up a book with the other. "Why were you so upset? Was it over the… _incident_  in the Entrance Hall…?"

"What?" she scrunched up her nose in confusion and he just looked at her like she should have known what he was talking about. The light bulb came on when she remembered how Tom had found the two of them wrist-deep in each other's –  _oh, Merlin_. Her face flushed at the memory. How could she have forgotten about that? "Oh! No, no. Not  _that_."

He waited for her to continue. She stared at the perfectly pressed crease on the knee of his uniform, and thought of what she could possibly say. "I…didn't care for the topic of the lesson."

"The topic of the… _werewolves_? You got upset, because the lesson was about  _werewolves_?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione sat up, and frowned at him. "It wasn't just the topic of the lesson, it was the underlying tone of the  _conversation_ , Draco. Professor Nathair was wrong to say those things."

"What part was he wrong about?"

"A-all of it!"

"How was he wrong about all of it? He's not exactly my favorite teacher, but he was right. If a werewolf was standing in front of us right now, it wouldn't think twice about mauling us to death," Draco said with a frown.

" _Fine_ , he was right about that part, but they're still  _people_ , Draco. They're  _human_. He was making it sound like they were less, like they were -"

Draco interrupted her, "But they  _aren't_  human, Hermione. They're monsters. How can you not see that?"

Hermione froze, and stared at Draco in disbelief. He had a small, but perplexed expression on his face. He reached forward to tuck her hair behind her ear, but she pulled away from him. She slowly shook her head.

"Don't you dare patronize me, Draco Malfoy," she snapped, and shot up. She snatched up her satchel, and stared him down. "Apparently, I'm the only one around here who can see people for who they  _really_  are."

"What is  _that_  supposed to mean? Hermione -" he started, but she stopped him.

"No. I don't want to hear it right now. I'm going to bed early. Good night, Draco."

That night was one of the many nights that she was thankful for having her own room, but for a completely different reason than not having to listen to her dorm mates prattle on. No one was there to hear her cry.

She thought about everything that had happened in the past few months, and cried harder. What happened to her senior year being the best yet? This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to end like this. She'd lost all control of her life. Professor Nathair held so much power over her now. What had she gotten herself into?

She still felt like the most horrible person on the entire planet for what she'd done to Draco, even though she was rather annoyed with him at the moment.

Well, now that she thought about it, almost everything that she was doing was  _for_  Draco. She was doing this to  _protect_  him. If he knew that, then maybe he would forgive her.  _Maybe._ It was a lie she told herself to make herself feel better; a small comfort.

After a while, the tears dried. Hermione fiddled with her student president pin while she laid on her bed and a bitter laugh escaped her lips. She'd been so busy dealing with her drama, that she hadn't even begun to apply for prospective internships. Her life really was a mess.

There was also the whole situation with Slytherin's wand, as well. She was curious; she wanted to know  _more_  about it. Was there a way that she could possibly… _take advantage_ of the situation? What were her options? How could she beat him at his own game without him realizing she was a willing participant? She'd been checking in on the snakewood tree every other day since she put the sticking charm on it and it was still the same. She wasn't sure if he'd tried again, but if he had, he hadn't succeeded. And there was no way in Hell she was going to lift the charm until she got what she wanted from him. The only thing was, though…how could she get what she wanted from him without him knowing?

Hermione closed her eyes to think and the memory of how his lips felt against hers invaded her mind; how his fingers pressed against her –  _into_  her, and how badly she wanted him to – to –

_No._

She rolled over onto her stomach, pressed her face into her pillow, and screamed in frustration until her throat went raw.

All Hermione had to do was remind herself that it was already the end of March. All she had to do was put up with Tom for another two months and then she would be free of him.

* * *

Sunday would have been the perfect day to work on Alchemy homework, if it weren't for the fact that Draco and Harry were spending their time talking about Quodpot  _again_.

"You know, no one in the adult world is going to care that you two played Quodpot in school, right?" she whispered sarcastically as she continued writing.

"Well, they  _might_ , especially if a potential employer loves playing Quodpot," Harry grinned.

"Yeah, it's not all work, work, work, Hermione. People in the real world have hobbies," Draco added.

Hermione glared at her parchment. "You're still on my you-know-what list, Draco; so, I suggest you think before you speak."

Draco's smile fell. He went to open his mouth, but Harry interrupted him.

"Guys, look at this," he said, and laid out the most recent copy of The New York Ghost out on the table in front of them. On the cover was a black and white photograph of an elderly man retreating behind the front door to a house on a loop. Cameras were flashing. The poor man looked worn, dismal, and –  _wait_.

"Is that  _Albus Dumbledore_?" Hermione asked in shock, and hastily grabbed the newspaper from Harry. She read the headline:  _Hogwarts Still Closed; Dumbledore Disgraced._

"I can't believe they put all the blame on him!" Harry seethed quietly. "It's not like  _he_  opened up the Chamber of Secrets. They should have blamed the Ministry for not conducting a proper investigation!"

Hermione remained silent as she quickly glossed over the article. Harry covered the broad generalization of the topic, but there was a bit more to it than that. Dumbledore hadn't taken the blame for the disappearance of Ginny,  _at first_. If anything, very little blame had been place on his shoulders at all.

What this article was talking about was how Dumbledore made it his personal goal to find the Chamber of Secrets, destroy whatever monster was supposed to lurk down there (Hermione still bet all her savings it was a Basilisk, but no one took the findings of a thirteen-year-old girl seriously), and reopen Hogwarts. He started that goal five years ago, and  _still_  hadn't found Ginny  _or_  a monster  _or_  the Chamber of Secrets. Everyone thought that if  _one_  person could find anything, it would be Dumbledore.

So, when he failed, the tabloids took to the scandal of it all. Scandalous stories sold best, after all. It wasn't fair, but it was the truth. The only problem was…this article wasn't in some trashy tabloid a witch would read while getting her hair done at the salon. This was in the official wizarding newspaper of the greater New England area.

This…this wasn't good.

"It says he's secluded himself in his family's home at Godric's Hollow," Draco murmured as he read it over her shoulder.

Harry scoffed, and leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, one of the greatest wizards of all time, forced into hiding for something that he didn't even do, because  _that_  makes sense."

"No one is actually blaming him for any crimes, Harry. But…it is unfair what they expected of him. That is too much of a burden to place on anyone's shoulders," she replied.

"Father said that Hogwarts closing was probably a good thing. Said something about educational reform," Draco added, but shrunk beneath the heavy glares Hermione and Harry sent his way. He held his hands up. "Hey, I didn't say I agreed with him, alright?"

Hermione looked back at the photo, and narrowed her eyes on Dumbledore's dull ones. "Maybe…we should go visit him."

"What? When?" Harry asked, eager.

"Well, we've already had Spring break and he's too far away for a weekend trip," Hermione thought out loud. "Perhaps after graduation? Maybe all three of us can make a quick trip and stop by, since we'll more than likely be going back home after."

Harry nodded. "I'll go with you."

Harry and Hermione looked at Draco expectantly and he rolled his eyes. "Like you two would even give me a choice."

"You're right," Harry said with a grin.

Hermione gave a small smile and added, "We wouldn't."

"You know what? I think we should help him."

"And how in the world are we supposed to do that, Potter? If  _Dumbledore_  wasn't successful, how would three teenagers fresh out of school fare?" Draco asked, skeptical.

"As much as I'd want to help, Draco is right, Harry. And it wasn't just Dumbledore that looked – many departments from the British Ministry helped, as well. Teachers, parents, Aurors. I even heard a group of Unspeakables scoured the castle, doing Merlin knows what. No one found anything."

"It's better than just sitting here, doing nothing," he grumbled.

"Harry James Potter," Hermione snapped. "Get this through that thick skull of yours:  _none_  of this is your fault or responsibility. We were  _twelve_ when it happened.  _Twelve_."

Harry shot up, his chair falling to the floor. It was the first time he'd ever glared at her like that and it turned her blood cold. "And Ginny was only eleven."

Hermione's shoulders fell. " _Harry_ , I –" she started, but he'd already stormed off. She got up to follow him, but Draco's hand shot out to stop her.

"Don't. Just let him go."

"I can't just let him go off like that, Draco. He's my best friend and –"

"And he'll be fine," he finished for her. "You should know better than anyone that sometimes you just need to be left alone when you're upset."

Hermione sunk back into her chair. "Yes, perhaps you're right. I just feel like he's been off lately."

"He's just restless and stressed. A lot of seniors are like that right before graduation – even  _you've_  been acting like that recently," he joked, and laid his arm over the back of her chair. She tensed.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked cautiously.

"Well…it's a big change, becoming an adult – going out into the real world. We'll need to find jobs, flats, buy our own groceries, prepare our own meals…"

Hermione huffed air out her nose, and nudged him with her shoulder. "Hah! You mean that we'll have to worry about all those things; you know full-well that you won't have to worry about any of that. I'm sure you've had a job lined up after graduation since birth."

Draco laid a hand over his heart in mock-hurt. "You wound me, Hermione."

"Oh, shut up. You know it's true," she replied absentmindedly, turning her attention back to her homework.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad Hogwarts closed," he said and she almost broke her neck to look at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to explain himself. He threaded his fingers through her hair behind her ear, and pulled her closer. He whispered against her lips, "You would have never been mine if we never came to Ilvermorny."

Hermione whispered back, "Whoever said that I was yours?"

Draco couldn't hold back his smirk as he slowly kissed her once. "What if I  _wanted_  you to be mine?"

She returned the kiss, and replied slyly, "And what if I wanted to belong to myself?"

He pulled away from her, and searched her eyes. "I suppose we can bargain, and come to some sort of agreement."

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulled away from him, and went back to working on her Alchemy paper. "I don't bargain, Draco. Come on, let's focus. The library is closing in a couple hours."

Draco smirked, and started working on his own paper.

She felt his eyes on her for several minutes afterward and she was about to tell him off for not focusing on his work, but she realized something was off – she could see Draco's quill scribbling across his own parchment out of the corner of her eye.

Hermione slowly lifted her gaze up, and immediately found him. Professor Nathair was casually leaning up against a bookcase on the other side of the library, holding a small book open in his hands. His nose was buried in it, but his dark eyes were leveled on her. He didn't look pleased –  _at all_. Her heart started beating wildly in her chest, but she refused to show any outward signs of the newly administered shot of adrenaline coursing through her.

Instead, she kept her eyes defiantly glued to his. The corner of his mouth lifted and he tilted his head to the side curiously; he probably thought her little challenge was  _cute – adorable_  even, which  _pissed_  her off.

Hermione scowled, and went back to working on her homework. She didn't have time for his games; she had  _important_  things to worry about. If he wanted to be an arrogant prick, then he could just go give his ego a good old-fashioned wank –

"Ms. Granger. Mr. Malfoy," Professor Nathair greeted.

She hid a grimace behind the curls covering half her face.

_God, damn it._

"Hello, Professor," Draco managed to say with very little attitude, and maybe with just a  _hint_  of fear. "Did you need something?"

Hermione finally felt brave enough to glance up at Tom, and immediately regretted it. A small smile was teasing his lips and he glanced at her for just a moment before looking back at Draco. Her insides clenched.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I nearly forgot that I haven't assigned either of your detentions for the upcoming week."

 _Damn it._ She'd entirely forgotten that they still had to serve detention to keep the Entrance Hall incident all hush-hush.

"I've been asked to eliminate a small infestation of Bundimun that has taken over the boys' locker rooms in the Quodpot stands. It's a relatively simple task, so I'll leave that for you to deal with, Mr. Malfoy," the young professor said.

"Bundimun infestation? We all thought it was just  _mold_ ," Draco scrunched his nose up in disgust.

"Bundimun's will still rot the wood away faster than any mold would. Professor Sanchez also mentioned that she would like any secretions from them collected – she's running low on her magical cleaning supplies for her cauldrons."

Draco's already disgusted face became even more disgusted at the idea of having to collect secretions.

Professor Nathair raised his eyebrows. "Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?"

"N-no, sir."

"Excellent. Now, for you, Ms. Granger…"

_Oh, Merlin. Please don't force me to go on some near-death experience again…_

"I'll be out on business this Tuesday night and I need someone to prepare my lessons for the next day."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Would you prefer to trade with Mr. Malfoy…?" he asked with his eyebrow raised.

Hermione shook her head. "No. No, I can prepare your lessons, sir."

"Good. Mr. Malfoy, take care of yours as soon as possible. Ms. Granger, you can just stay behind for a few minutes when class lets out on Tuesday, so I can tell you what needs to be done. Any questions?" he asked.

Her eyes lingered on his face longer than she'd meant it to. It was so… _odd_  seeing him act like a normal human being, especially after seeing his true self. She knew better now.

Hermione unconsciously licked her chapped lips, and only realized that she did, because his eyes darted straight to them. The corner of her mouth lifted when she saw the effect she had on him. "No, sir. No questions at all."

* * *

Hermione waited patiently in her seat, and watched Professor Nathair collect some papers from his desk. Then, he made his way over to her.

"The lessons are rather simple for my first through fifth year classes; I won't need very much prepared, but the sixth and seventh year ones will be a bit of work," he stated in a business-like tone, and pushed the papers toward her. "For these ones, I have all the supplies on my shelves and I just need one diagram done up of proper wand techniques for each class – just make sure each one is age-appropriate for the year. Also-"

"This doesn't  _feel_  like detention, you know. This feels more like the work I help you with as your aide," Hermione interrupted.

"Oh, pardon me. Is this work not grueling enough for you? I could make it more intolerable, if you'd like," he said with an attitude, obviously annoyed at her interrupting him.

She did her best to fight back a triumphant smirk. "That's quite alright, thanks."

The expression on Tom's face turned wicked. "Ahh, I see. You were expecting something… _else_ , weren't you?"

 _Perhaps, I was_ , she thought cynically,  _you egotistical prick_.

"No, not at all," she said with a polite smile. His dark eyes lingered on hers long enough to almost make her squirm. The intensity of his stare made her head feel heavy, so she dropped her gaze to the papers on the table, and asked what she was supposed to prepare for the older students.

Professor Nathair narrowed his eyes at her for only a split-second before he told her exactly what she needed to do.

* * *

Hermione didn't have much time; she needed to hurry. After she'd finished everything she'd needed to do for Professor Nathair in record time, she used the time she had left over to snoop. Tom had given her no timeframe of when he'd be back, other than "late".

A small pang of guilt and anxiety hit her.  _Sure_ , it wasn't right and  _sure_ , she hadn't planned on it in advance, but…well…no. She really didn't have an excuse for what she was doing right now.

An opportunity was an opportunity and she would be daft to not take it.

The first stop she made was the drawer in Tom's desk that he always seemed to safeguard – the one that had that box. She reached her hand to grasp the handle, and paused. What if it was warded?

She pulled her wand out, and checked for any signs of wards or curses that could have been placed on his desk, but found none. Hermione pursed her lips, and put her wand away.

"Odd," she muttered. He didn't seem like the type to leave something important unprotected.

Hermione took a deep breath, and pulled the drawer open. Her shoulders slumped and she let out an agitated sigh. No wonder it wasn't warded: it was only filled with a messy stack of essays.

He must have emptied it shortly after that day she cleaned the classroom. Feeling dejected, she pulled the essays out to straighten them, but froze – something caught her attention; she felt pulsing –  _vibrations_. That's when she noticed something else that was odd.

"Is that…?"

She reached her hand into the drawer, and pushed one of the corners down – it wiggled. There was a false bottom; he'd put in a  _false bottom_. Her heart raced as she carefully removed the small plank of wood, and peered inside. There was just one item, and one item only.

Hermione's nose scrunched up in confusion as she examined the peculiar ring pinched between her fingers. It was made of dull gold and there was an oddly cut obsidian stone set on the band. There was a symbol on the stone she  _swore_  she'd seen somewhere before, but she wasn't sure. It was rather ugly, if she were being honest, but there was something…something  _fascinating_  about it – something that was pulling her in –  _calling_  to her, even…

Just as she was going to slide it onto her finger, it flew out of her grasp. Hermione blinked herself out of her stupor, only to see a furious Tom glaring at her. That's when she also noticed him holding the ring in one hand and his wand in the other.

_Shit._

Using all the feigned ignorance she could muster, she quickly grabbed the stack of essays and played ignorant. "You're back early, sir."

His nostrils flared. "Good thing, too. Isn't it?"

She blinked innocently at him, and turned her attention back to the essays she was stacking. "What do you mean?"

His wand pressed into the sensitive patch of skin underneath her chin and he lifted her head up to meet his gaze. Legitimate fear coursed through her. A sneer graced his features. "Don't play dumb with me, little girl; we both know that you aren't. I know what you were doing and  _you_  know what you were doing."

Hermione glanced down at his wand, and had a difficult time getting her breathing under control. She swallowed, putting on her courageous front.

" _Fine_ ," she snapped in admittance. "I was  _curious_."

" _Curious_? You mean you were sticking that pretty little nose of yours where it doesn't belong."

"You mean kind of like what you're doing with your wand right now?" she challenged back without missing a beat.

His sneer turned into a cold smile. "You know, it's too bad that life debts aren't taken seriously anymore. I believe you'd owe me several times over now," he said, then dropped his wand from her chin, and walked toward his desk.

Hermione's tensed body relaxed with a sigh. It only took her a moment to recover before she opened her mouth again. "Several times over? Hah! Not likely."

Tom was fixing his desk when he rolled his eyes. "It's amazing, really, how you're not dead yet. And yes,  _several_. Just the werewolves and the ring are two."

She frowned at him. "A ring isn't exactly deadly."

He smiled to himself. "This one is. And you almost put it on your damn finger, like a fool."

Her eyes widened as she quickly deduced what he meant. "It's a magical ring – it's  _cursed_ , isn't it?"

The pulsating – it had been  _magic_. It had been calling to her, practically begging her – no –  _convincing_  her to wear it. Hermione pointed to where he was putting the ring back away under the false bottom and said, "You  _can't_  keep that here, if it's deadly, like you say. What would happen if another student found it? It's not safe."

"I suppose it will be a lesson learned for any student who thinks that it is a good idea to go through my desk without my permission," he said slowly, giving her a pointed look. Hermione flushed. He chuckled.

"That's not the point!" she hissed.

Tom shut the drawer, then sat in his chair. "Who said there must be a point, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione's mouth clamped shut, then her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "What does it do?"

A victorious smile slowly spread over his face. "I was wondering when you'd ask that."

"You were?"

"Yes."

"Well…what does it do?" she asked, hesitant of the answer.

"I never said that I was going to tell you."

 _Prick,_ she silently fumed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You've truly surprised me, Ms. Granger," he paused for a moment to observe her. "Here I was, half expecting you to threaten to turn me in to Headmaster Fontaine. What's changed your outlook, I wonder?"

Hermione remembered to be careful when playing her part – to let him think that  _he_  was the one who held all the strings. "You're blackmailing me; or do you not recall?"

"No," he said, slowly shaking his head. He stood, and began to circle her. "No, it's not that. Something has changed."

Her arms fell and her hands felt clammy all of a sudden. Had he figured her out already? So soon?

Blood rushed to her face, among other places, when she felt his fingers brush across her shoulder blades as he circled her. Professor Nathair stopped directly in front of her, and absently toyed with one of the curls laying over her shoulder. She refused to look up and she could hardly think. Her brain was a jumbled mess.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tom grasped her chin not-so-gently, and forced her face toward his. She could feel her heart practically jumping out of her chest as he tilted his head to the side. "Don't you lie to me, Hermione. I can see right through you."

Her eyes widened.  _What? How?_ This wasn't going how she'd planned.  _Shit, shit, shit._

"Let go of me _._ "

He clicked his tongue. "What do you say first, Hermione?"

 _Merlin_ , she wanted to hit him, but she also wanted to kiss him and she hated herself for it. She ground her teeth together, and managed to squeeze out a forced, " _Please,_ sir _._ "

"Manners will get you absolutely everywhere in this world, Ms. Granger," he said menacingly, his lips hovering above hers. It took all her self-restraint to not rush forward.

"Is that how you got a teaching position at Ilvermorny, then? With manners?" she asked quietly; her eyes lingering to his lips; her fingers grasping onto the sides of her skirt.

Tom's fingers slowly trailed up the side of her neck. She closed her eyes, and sighed.

His lips barely grazed hers as he spoke. "Manners, among other methods. I can be rather influential, you know."

"Influential? Really? I had no idea," Hermione murmured against his lips, enjoying and hating his touch.

"Mm, yes. Would you like me to show you?" he asked as his other hand began to push her skirt up.

_Yes. I want you to show me._

Hermione lifted her hands to reach for him, but a loud crash sounded outside the classroom and she jumped several feet away from Tom. The door flew open and there stood a disheveled Draco Malfoy, covered head to toe in oozing moldy-colored slime. She covered her mouth in shock at the sight of him.

Draco's chest heaved as he got his breathing under control. He looked  _insane_ and he pointed an accusatory finger at Tom.

"You can tell…Professor Sanchez…that if she wants her damn  _secretions_ , then she can come collect it herself," he spat angrily, then a large glob of the secretions slowly slid from his chin, and landed with a sickening splat onto the floor.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Duly noted."

* * *

 **A/N:** Yeah, I know. It's been months. Oh, well. lmao This story isn't going to be abandoned, guys. I'm a busy bitch, oKaAaY? This story is going to be...complicated, so it's taking way more planning than I'm used to. Thanks for rEaDiNg, mah bitches. ily baby boos

Also, come say hi to me on tumblr!! My name is ninjafairy86! Thaaanks! I LOVE YOU BITCHES OK BYE for real this time


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